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0:00 PROLOGUE | rockstar!jeon jungkook x fem!reader
❪ synopsis ❫ there are three universal rules in a woman’s life; rule #1: don’t marry a stranger in las vegas. rule #2: definitely don’t marry a famous rockstar. rule #3: if you somehow break both rules, try not to fall in love with him.
too bad you failed all three. now you’re stuck with a skull-shaped wedding ring, your name in every frontline and way too much time with the infuriatingly handsome singer of a rock band you accidentally married.
❪ chapter warnings ❫ 18+ THEMES! such as; mention of alcohol consumption ( i mean… it’s a drunken vegas marriage trope ) ,, use of vulgar language ,, mention of vomiting ,, loooots of banter and sexual tension ,, tiny bit of angst ,, jungkook being jungkook
❪ series warnings ❫ strangers to lovers ,, mature themes, such as: SMUT ( more detailed in each chapter ) ,, alcohol consumption ,, mention of drugs ,, angst ,, sexual tension ,, language ,, media scrutiny and online hate :( ,, & more to be added ,, – there will be tons of comedy tho, i promise!
❪ authors note ❫ long time no see :) new jk series eheh !! i got this idea after watching the hangover a few nights ago, hopefully you’ll enjoy ;) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapters !
! click on read more !
The first thing you notice is the light.
It’s cruel in a way only Las Vegas sunlight can manage, slicing through the curtains of a hotel room that definitely costs more per night than your entire month of sanity. You groan before you even fully wake up, turning your face into the pillow in protest, only to realize two things at once: your head is pounding like a drumline, and the pillow you’re holding smells faintly like expensive cologne… a man’s cologne.
Your brain takes a moment to catch up with that information.
A man’s cologne?
You emit a slight groan at the thought, very slowly opening one eye, as if that might somehow make the situation less alarming. However, as you bring one hand to move your hair away from your sweaty forehead, a small, pointy object bumps against your half-open eye.
You freeze before a sound comes out from your lips, your eyes opening more as you take the sight in front of you — and that’s when you see it.
The fourth finger of your left hand is decorated with the strangest ring you’ve ever seen; dark metal, heavy and – as if the universe is trying to mock you – a small skull carved into the front.
You wouldn’t trust whoever decided to buy this ring, let alone wear it proudly. And yet, it’s on your finger.
A laugh almost escapes you, as you stare at the odd ring, but suddenly your stomach drops in a slow, horrifying realization that feels like it takes years rather than seconds to fully land.
“Oh, shit…” you whisper, your voice unsurprisingly weak.
And that’s when faint, blurry memories hit you stronger than an ocean wave…
Las Vegas.
Too much alcohol. A chapel.
Loud music. Even louder laughter. A man’s hand in yours. Alcohol everywhere. A ring sliding onto your finger while you laughed like none of this had consequences.
And now…
Now you’re lying in a hotel bed, wearing a skull-shaped wedding ring, in a room that never in your wildest dreams you thought you could sleep in.
“No,” you say, more firmly this time, staring at the infamous ring. “No, no, no—”
“Actually…” a voice drawls from somewhere to your left, rough with sleep and entirely too entertained for this early in the morning. “You already said yes. Last night, more than once actually.”
You freeze, breath hitching. Very slowly, you turn your head.
The man lying beside you doesn’t look remotely concerned about the fact that your life has just imploded. If anything, he looks comfortable. Annoyingly comfortable.
One tattooed arm tucked behind his head while his short, dark hair stick up in every direction. The sunlight catches the metal rings in his ears and the small eyebrow piercing above one eye, and for one horrifying second, your brain decides now is the perfect time to acknowledge that he’s attractive.
Extremely, criminally attractive.
Then, as your eyes roam down to his sheet-covered torso, your brain catches up with the rest of the situation.
“Who the fuck are you?”
You didn’t intend to sound so harsh, but how could you not when your life has taken such a sudden turn?
The man’s eyebrows shoot up, giving you a confused look as if your question actually seems to offend him.
“Ouch.”
You exhale, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m serious!”
He mimics your movements, exhaling loudly as his hand emerges from beneath the sheets, and before you can stop him, he holds it up between you.
A matching ring glints on his finger.
Looking exactly like the one you’re wearing…
Your mouth opens in disbelief, your mind scrambling for something – anything – to say. But all you can do is stare at the ring on his finger, then back at his smug expression, which is doing nothing to help you process everything.
“You're joking,” you finally manage, sitting up slightly, the sheets slipping down just enough to reveal the top of my chest. “This isn’t real. This is some kind of dream. Some weird, messed-up dream where I married a guy I don’t even know.”
He blinks slowly, like you’ve just told him the sky is green. Then he leans back, folding his arms behind his head again, looking far too pleased with himself.
“I have better things to do than prank some woman I met last night,” he says, voice still low and sleepy, but there’s a hint of amusement in it. “As a matter of fact, I have no time to.”
He sits up then, mirroring your position, and suddenly you're hyper aware of how close you both are in this king-sized bed. His proximity allows you to take some of his details that feel like a distant, blurry memory — the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips (the bottom one adorned with a small piercing), the perfect bridge of his nose.
You meet his eyes before he could notice your wandering gaze, finding him already staring back at you.
The silence that follows is almost unbearable, stretching on for several long seconds as your brain desperately tries to process everything he's said so far.
Unfortunately, the more you think about it, the worse it gets. Because if he's telling the truth, then somewhere between yesterday and this morning, you somehow ended up married to a man whose last name you don't even know.
A man currently lounging in bed like this entire situation is mildly entertaining instead of a catastrophic life event.
“Wait.” You break the silence, your eyes narrowing suspiciously. One dark eyebrow lifts immediately at the tone of your voice. “You met me last night.”
His expression doesn't change. “That tends to happen before marriage, yeah.”
“No, that's not what I mean.” You point at him accusingingly, nearly tangling yourself in the sheets in the process. “You said you met me last night. So… we were strangers.”
“Correct.” The answer comes so easily that for a second, you think you’ve misheard him.
You stare at him, waiting for any sign of a prank on his expression.
However, it never comes.
Instead, he just looks back at you with the same infuriatingly relaxed expression he’s been wearing ever since you woke up, as if waking up married to a complete stranger is a perfectly normal activity for him.
Then, a grin appears on his face. The kind of grin that immediately makes your stomach sink because it can only mean one thing: he’s about to say something that will ruin your morning even more than it already has.
The amusement dancing in his eyes doesn’t help, nor does the fact that he looks entirely too pleased with himself while you’re sitting here trying to piece together the aftermath of what is shaping up to be the worst decision of your life.
For a brief moment, you consider throwing another pillow at him.
Then, he opens his mouth.
“You proposed.”
A gasp cracks through the room at a volume that makes your already-pounding headache throb harder, but you barely notice.
“I- WHAT?!”
Your brain hears the words, taking long before processing them. Then immediately rejects them as false information because there is absolutely no version of reality in which you would propose to a complete stranger in Las Vegas. You don't care how much alcohol was involved, you don’t even care if someone spiked your drink with liquid insanity. It’s simply impossible!
“First of all,” you say, pointing at him so aggressively your finger actually shakes, “that’s fucking insane.”
The grin only grows.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” you reply immediately, sitting up straighter despite the way your headache punishes you for the movement. “Second, I would never propose to a man. Never! And a stranger, too!”
“You did it twice, actually,” he replies, leaning forward with a devilish smirk. “Once at the bar, and once in front of the chapel.”
Your mouth opens to let a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like a squeak, eyes widening in disbelief.
“You're lying,” you finally get out, shaking your head violently. “You're lying, you're lying, you're lying—”
But the way he's watching you, the way his lips twitch like he's trying not to laugh — it's all adding up to one terrifying conclusion.
“Shit, you're not lying,” you whisper, horror creeping into your voice. “You're not lying. Oh god, I proposed to you…”
He nods slowly, like he's confirming something obvious. “Yeah. You did.”
You feel like you're going to be sick. Or pass out. Or both. Maybe you're already dreaming and any second now you'll wake up in your own bed, safe and unmarried.
But the hard planes of his chest, the warmth radiating off his body, the way the sunlight glints off those stupid skull rings — they're all painfully, undeniably real.
This can't be happening, you mutter, running a trembling hand through your hair. It comes back tangled and smelling vaguely of cigarette smoke and expensive champagne. Wonderful.
“Okay, okay, okay”, you get up from the bed, and thank goodness you’re still fully dressed in your party dress. “Let's just... let's just think about this logically.”
“Hey, hey, where are you going?” He asks, sounding amused and slightly exasperated as he watches you scramble out of bed.
You whirl around to face him, hands on your hips. “I'm thinking, okay?! Trying to figure out how the hell this happened and what we're supposed to do now.”
He leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement causes the sheets to cascade on his upper body, exposing more of his tanned torso and the waistband of his Calvin Klein’s boxers.
“Well, sit down and think faster,” he says, gesturing to the empty space beside him. “Because trust me, you don't want my management team or the press getting involved in our little adventure.”
Your eyes widen at his words, and you stop your frantic movements as you process his words.
“Who the fuck are you?”
You ask that for the second time in a span of five minutes, but this time you feel your panic flooding your body almost entirely.
“Mhm, just the singer of one of the most famous bands in the world. Like I told you last night,” he says with a smirk, his tone sarcastic as he clearly enjoys your flustered state.
“And now apparently also your husband.” His grin widens, showing off perfect white teeth. “Quite the upgrade from whatever you were doing before, huh?”
Suddenly, everything starts to make sense; the comfortable mattress only rich people could afford, the master’s bedroom of a luxurious hotel that you didn’t even know could be so grand, the questionable-looking ring who was more worth than your small apartment…
You swallow your thoughts in one big gulp, trying to remember anything from the previous night that could explain your current state.
Your eyes fixate on the man on the bed, his expression cocky as he stares at your disheveled figure, sulking at your last remaining ounce of composure.
And suddenly, as you dig deeper into your scrambled thoughts, one memory pops up at his sight.
“…Jungkook?”
“There you go, Y/N,” he says, your name rolling on his tongue like sin, while he nods approvingly as recognition flashes across your face. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think I'd have to introduce myself again to my own wife.”
You feel a wave of heat wash over you at his words, your cheeks flushing brightly. The reality of the situation is hitting you harder than ever now. You're really married to him. To the world-famous Jungkook from the infamous rock band that’s on everybody’s mouth. It's surreal, like something out of a trashy romance novel.
“How... How did this happen?” You ask, your voice sounding thin and strained to your own ears. “What the hell were we thinking?”
He shrugs at your question, eyes fixated on your confused expression; somehow, he enjoys the little pout on your face along your wide eyes.
“Well, it would have been rude to refuse a proposal.” He simply states as it’s obvious. “Actually, two proposals.”
Your eyes widen even more, fighting the urge to throw a pillow (or a knife) at him — you never thought you had this much self control before meeting (and marrying) Jeon Jungkook.
“Besides, I could never resist a pretty face begging me to marry her. Twice.” The smirk playing on his lips is infuriatingly sexy, even as your brain short-circuits trying to process his words.
“Okay, I get it!” You roll your eyes, pretending not to care about the warmth pervading your cheeks and neck. “Can we now focus on fixing this mess? Thank you!”
“How?” He raises his pierced eyebrow, clearly amused by your suggestion. “You wanna divorce? Already?” There's a teasing lilt to his voice as he sits up straighter, the sheets pooling around his waist.
You groan in response at his tone. “What other options do we have?”
Jungkook opened his mouth immediately, clearly ready with another smart remark.
“Well,” he said, dragging the word out as he leaned back against the headboard, looking far too comfortable, “we could stay married.”
You stared at him in disbelief, making the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.
“Is this a joke to you? Do you realise what is actually happening? Because I do, and I shouldn’t be here fixing this mess! Fuck, my friends are probably looking for me everywhere…”
You closed your eyes at the throbbing pain in your head, exhaling loudly.
“Oh, come on.” He laughed when your expression turned murderous as soon as he spoke. “I’m just saying. It would save us paperwork.”
“Paperwork? Are you for real?”
“Mhm.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Very serious concern. Bureaucracy is terrifying.”
You narrow your eyes at his nonchalant attitude, frustration boiling inside you. You can feel your patience wearing thinner by the second.
“But what about me?" You snap, your voice rising an octave. "Have you considered how this affects my life?”
You start pacing the room, gesticulating wildly as you continue. “I have a career, you know. Friends and family who will lose their minds when they find out about this. And you...” You jab a finger in his direction. “You're some international superstar who probably does crazy shit like this all the time!”
You pause, realizing how loud you've gotten. Taking a deep breath, you try to compose yourself, but the tremor in your voice betrays your anxiety.
He blinks at your outburst, taken aback by the raw emotion in your voice. For a moment, his cocky facade cracks, revealing a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.
Shit. He hadn't really considered the full weight of the situation on you. In his arrogance, he'd assumed this would be just another wild story to tell, not a life-altering predicament for an innocent bystander caught in his whirlwind.
“Y/N…” He starts, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words. Which is saying something, considering the man is known for his silver tongue. He sits up straighter, the sheets falling away completely as he swings his legs over the side of the bed to face you directly.
He runs a hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Look, I know I come across as... well...” He stops himself, before sighing loudly. “But I promise you, even I have limits. Marrying random fans isn't usually on my agenda.” Despite the lightness of his words, there's a flicker of genuine remorse in his eyes.
“But you're right. We need to figure this out, and fast. Before it blows up in both our faces.” He sighs heavily, the weight of the situation seeming to settle on his shoulders.
You blink in surprise at his sudden show of concern, not expecting such a sincere response from the cocky Jungkook. As the initial shock fades, a playful smirk tugs at your lips.
“I'm not your fan,” you quip, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him back.
His eyebrows shoot up at your declaration, a flash of intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Could've fooled me, the way you kept proposing last night.”
You feel your cheeks flush at his words, a mix of embarrassment and indignation coloring your features.
“Helloooo? I was drunk off my ass, in case you forgot.”You retort, crossing your arms defensively. “That hardly counts as being your fan.”
Despite your best efforts to maintain a stern facade, you can't quite suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. His playful banter is surprisingly effective at diffusing your tension, even as your mind reels from the absurdity of the situation.
Only now do you register that Jungkook is standing mere feet away from you, dressed in nothing but a pair of tight Calvin Klein black boxers that leave little to the imagination. Your eyes can't help but wander over his lean, muscular frame, taking in the intricate tattoos adorning his arm and part of his chest and the way his abs contract with each subtle movement.
He catches you staring and smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. “See something you like, Mrs. Jeon?” he teases, striking a playful pose. The nickname rolls off his tongue smoothly, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.
Realizing the inappropriateness of ogling your new husband while discussing annulling your marriage, you quickly avert your gaze, a fierce blush staining your cheeks. “Don't call me that,”
His grin widens, making you groan and turn away from him.
You press your palms against your eyes for a brief moment; maybe if you count to ten, this entire situation will disappear. Maybe you’ll wake up in your own bed and discover none of this happened. Maybe—
Your train of thought comes to an abrupt halt.
Slowly, your eyes open. Then slowly, very slowly, they drift back toward Jungkook.
“Why are you in your underwear?”
He smirks, somehow your question amusing you. “What, you didn't enjoy our wild wedding night enough to appreciate the view?” he teases.
You gape at him, your face turning an even brighter shade of red. "Excuse me?! Nothing happened last night beyond the unfortunate event of us getting married! I don't remember seeing anything beyond my own puke, let alone your...”
You gesture vaguely at his half-naked form, unable to bring yourself to finish the sentence.
He laughs, the sound rich and warm despite the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Relax, I'm just messing with you,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing happened, I swear. You were busy projectile vomiting in the bathroom after we reached my room… poor thing.”
He glances at you, tilting slightly as he studies you. “You were more fun, last night. It’s true when they say people show their true colours when they’re married…” he jokes, trying to ease the tension despite his own slight sense of panic.
You glare at him, your embarrassment morphing into irritation. “Oh, haha, very funny,” you mutter sarcastically. “I'm glad my misery amuses you so much.”
Shaking your head, you start to pace the room again, your mind racing. “We need to figure this out, Jungkook. Like, immediately. Before someone leaks this to the press and my life become a circus.”
You pause mid-step, a horrifying thought occurring to you. “Wait... you don't think anyone saw us getting married, do you? Because if pictures of this end up online...” You shudder at the idea, feeling lightheaded.
“Naaaaah,” he reassures you with a casual wave of his hand. “Only two of my members were there, Yoongi and Jimin. Trust me, the chances of them taking pics are slim to none.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yoongi barely knows how to work his phone, let alone a proper camera. And Jimin? Nah, he wouldn't risk pissing me off by sneaking photos.”
A mischievous glint enters his eye as he continues, “The only one who might have gotten some decent shots is Namjoon, but unfortunately for us, he wasn't part of our little adventure. Otherwise, he definitely would've put a stop to things before they got this far.”
You groan at his words. “And he just had to be missing last night, huh?” You ask him, shaking your head in disappointment.
However, you soon feel a wave of relief wash over you at what he said, your tense shoulders sagging slightly. At least there's something good in this mess.
“The chapel could still have cameras,” you mutter, running a hand through your tousled hair. “And even if it doesn’t, we can't exactly keep this a secret forever. Someone's bound to notice eventually.”
An idea strikes you, and you turn to face Jungkook fully, a determined set to your jaw. “Okay, here's what we're going to do. First, we need to contact your PR team – or whatever you call it – and tell me them it was just a drunken mistake. Or a prank, I don’t know.”
You hold up a hand, forestalling any potential objections. “And second, we need to get this annulled as soon as possible. I’m sure you can do it here in Vegas in no time, right?”
Jungkook considers your words carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, he snorts loudly.
Actually snorts.
You immediately narrow your eyes at his antics, sighing loudly. “Sorry, it’s just...” He presses his lips together, clearly trying – and failing – not to laugh. “You sound like you're organizing a business meeting.”
“Because somebody has to be responsible.”
“Responsible?” His pierced eyebrow shoots up. “You proposed to a stranger in Las Vegas.”
“I was drunk!”
“Twice.” He repeats, enhancing the sound of each letter.
“Stop bringing up the twice thing, how many times are you gonna do it?!”
You groan loudly, dragging both hands down your face. Every time he mentions it, a new layer of humiliation unlocks inside your soul.
Jungkook watches your suffering for a second before his grin softens slightly.
“Okay,” he says. "Fine. PR team first. Then the annulment, but—”
You stop him before he can continue. “No buts, Jungkook.”
“That’s not how conversation works!” he complains, mirroring the same pout you had just minutes before.
“Do I look like I care?” You ask, fighting the urge to groan.
A laugh escapes him despite himself, and finally, finally, he starts roaming around the room, searching for a piece of clothing.
“But,” he continues, ignoring your protests, “What if it’s not that simple?”
You drop your hands and stare at him, already pissed at whatever his next words are.
“What do you mean, not that simple?”
“I mean exactly that.” He shrugs. “It’s my first time being married, in case you forgot. I don’t know the cancellation policy.”
“Cancellation policy?” you repeat in disbelief. “Jungkook, it’s a marriage, not a Netflix subscription.”
“Well,” he says, finally finding a black tee clean enough to wear, “feels like there should be one.”
You hate that a tiny part of you almost laughs.
Almost.
“It doesn’t matter,” you simply respond, “because your team will take care of everything.”
He pulls the shirt over his head, the fabric stretching across his chest. As he emerges from under the hem, he fixes you with an intense stare.
“You seem awfully eager to make this go away,” he comments, his tone unreadable. "I mean, it’s not everyday that you get to marry a rockstar, you know?”
You almost cringe at his use of words, but he laughs it off, showing once again that he’s simply joking.
However, he immediately pauses, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “Are you certain this is what you want? To just erase it like it never happened?”
There's a vulnerability in his eyes that catches you off guard, a glimpse beneath the confident exterior. “Y/N,” he calls your name softly, walking closer to where you’re standing. “Do you… are you sure you don’t remember anything from last night? Absolutely nothing?”
You blink rapidly, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart skip a beat, and you find yourself momentarily at a loss for words.
“I... What?” you stammer, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What difference does it make whether I remember or not? It was a mistake, Jungkook. A huge, drunken error in judgment, I don’t know you and you don’t know me.”
Despite your words, uncertainty creeps into your voice. The sincerity in his eyes gives you pause, stirring up feelings you'd rather not examine too closely.
“Are you sure about that?”
His question takes you aback, not only his words but the way he drags them weakly yet decisively, whispering yet loud enough for you to hear clearly. It’s like he’s not trying to convince you of something, but reminding you of something you've forgotten.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
You ask, and he steps closer in response. The space between you shrinks so naturally that you don’t realize what’s happening until he’s standing close enough that you can make out every detail of his face — the small scar on his cheek, the dark eyes fixed entirely on yours and the faint scent of his cologne lingering on his skin.
“You can't get to know a person in one night,” you argue, lifting your chin despite the fact that your voice comes out weaker than intended.
His gaze doesn’t leave yours.
“Can’t you?”
Before you can say another one of your remarks, a loud ringtone suddenly cuts through the silence.
The sound makes you both flinch, as if you’ve gotten caught doing God knows what.
Jungkook’s eyes close briefly as he exhales through his nose, before his body moves towards his phone as it continues vibrating insistently on the nightstand.
You don’t get to glance at the screen but you’re certain the name flashing across it clearly means something because Jungkook’s expression changes immediately.
“Shit, okay,” Jungkook mumbles, grabbing the phone with a tight grip. “It’s my manager.” He informs you.
You watch as he glances at the screen, his expression hardening almost instantly. The playful attitude that had been driving you insane all morning vanishes so quickly it's almost theatrical.
One second he's the cocky stranger teasing you about drunken proposals, the next he looks like someone ready to take care of something much bigger than himself.
He answers before the phone can ring again.
“Yeah?”
The response is immediate, sharp as a knife. The person on the other end launches into what sounds like a full-blown panic attack. Even from across the room, you can hear the faint sound of a voice talking so fast it barely seems to pause for oxygen. Jungkook closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“No– no, relax.”
A pause follows, making you tremble in agitation.
“No, nobody knows expect who already told you.” Maybe one of his band members?
His gaze flicks toward you, before another endless stream of words come out of other person’s mouth, echoing in the room.
“No,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “The media isn’t going to find out.”
His tone doesn’t give you the comfort you need, making your gaze fall to the ground. However, you end up lowering your eyes to the ring on your finger, immediately regretting it.
The sight of it sends your thoughts spiraling all over again. It was supposed to be a trip to Vegas with your girl friends, to celebrate the impeding wedding of one of them. Never in your wildest dreams you thought you could be the one getting married. To a rockstar. (How can you forget?)
Suddenly the hotel room feels far too small, the air too heavy, your headache returning with renewed determination.
Across the room, Jungkook is still listening to whatever his manager is saying, but his attention keeps drifting back to you. Eventually he lowers the phone from his ear and sighs.
“Y/N.” You glance up at the sound of your name. “I’ll take care of everything, I promise.”
You nod uncertainly, and he continues. “The media won’t find out,” he says firmly. “You’re not going to end up on some news site. You’re not in trouble, okay?”
The words should make you feel better… part of you thinks they do. However, another part is too overwhelmed to even know what feeling ‘better’ is supposed to look like right now.
All you know is that you’ve spent the last hour trapped inside a room with a stranger who isn’t really a stranger anymore, discussing a marriage that shouldn’t exist, and if you stay here much longer your brain might actually fry.
So while Jungkook goes back to his conversation, you quietly reach for your bag that you eyed previously – thankfully it was thrown away in the armchair next to the bed.
His eyes lift from the floor and find you as you’re sliding the strap onto your shoulder. For a second neither of you says anything while the person on the phone is still talking.
Not murmuring a word, you point toward the door in a silent question. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before understanding settles across his features.
Then, slowly, he nods.
Not because he wants you to leave, but because he understands that right now, after everything that’s happened, you probably need space more than anything else.
You return the nod, push open the door, and step out into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you a second later, leaving only silence in its wake, and for the first time since waking up this morning, you’re finally alone with your thoughts.
Jungkook’s voice still echoes faintly in your head. Not the teasing version of him, not the infuriating smirk or his continuous jokes or the casual arrogance that made you want to throw things at him.
The other version. The one that looked at you like this wasn’t just some ridiculous accident he could laugh off, but something he was already planning how to fix.
You push off the wall and start walking, slower now, your thoughts finally beginning to settle into something less frantic.
Maybe Jungkook is right. Maybe this really does get handled quietly. He’s a celebrity, after all… this is exactly what people like him do when something spirals out of control: clean it up before it ever reaches the outside world.
It almost makes sense, if you don’t think too hard about it. And you’re tired enough not to think too hard about anything right now.
By the time you reach the end of the hallway, your grip on the panic has loosened just enough for you to breathe normally again.
The media won’t find out.
That’s the only thought flowing in your mind — the only words you want to believe from Jungkook’s lips. Because right now, you need them to be true.
And for a brief, fragile moment in the quiet hallway outside a Las Vegas hotel room, you actually believe they might be.
That’s because you don’t see it yet — the way things are already moving beyond that room, beyond his control, beyond yours.
hii! r u ever gonna continue the en- harry potter series or is it completed already and i just havent seen it? 😭💞
hi dear <3 it’s not complete yet, and i’ll be honest, i was offline for a few months and right when i decided to continue writing the series, my laptop (where i had office and word, that i mostly use to write) decided to change its life one day 😐 to start all over again lol. the pc itself was fine, however everything that it had inside got deleted - including everything i wrote. (also, dumb me for using a burn account and not remembering the password…)
the jay’s chapter was basically all done, it needed some adjustments but i kept delaying the process because i was supposed to publish other blurbs and one shots of jake, hee and sunghoon.
i completely lost everything, and with it my motivation to write it all over again (also because it took me a whole month to write jays chapter alone, and it tired me like crazy). at this point i really want to finish it, but i’m not sure who would want to read it after so long (its entirely my fault for not keeping you engaged with the story tho).
0:00 PROLOGUE | rockstar!jeon jungkook x fem!reader
❪ synopsis ❫ there are three universal rules in a woman’s life; rule #1: don’t marry a stranger in las vegas. rule #2: definitely don’t marry a famous rockstar. rule #3: if you somehow break both rules, try not to fall in love with him.
too bad you failed all three. now you’re stuck with a skull-shaped wedding ring, your name in every frontline and way too much time with the infuriatingly handsome singer of a rock band you accidentally married.
❪ chapter warnings ❫ 18+ THEMES! such as; mention of alcohol consumption ( i mean… it’s a drunken vegas marriage trope ) ,, use of vulgar language ,, mention of vomiting ,, loooots of banter and sexual tension ,, tiny bit of angst ,, jungkook being jungkook
❪ series warnings ❫ strangers to lovers ,, mature themes, such as: SMUT ( more detailed in each chapter ) ,, alcohol consumption ,, mention of drugs ,, angst ,, sexual tension ,, language ,, media scrutiny and online hate :( ,, & more to be added ,, – there will be tons of comedy tho, i promise!
❪ authors note ❫ long time no see :) new jk series eheh !! i got this idea after watching the hangover a few nights ago, hopefully you’ll enjoy ;) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapters !
! click on read more !
The first thing you notice is the light.
It’s cruel in a way only Las Vegas sunlight can manage, slicing through the curtains of a hotel room that definitely costs more per night than your entire month of sanity. You groan before you even fully wake up, turning your face into the pillow in protest, only to realize two things at once: your head is pounding like a drumline, and the pillow you’re holding smells faintly like expensive cologne… a man’s cologne.
Your brain takes a moment to catch up with that information.
A man’s cologne?
You emit a slight groan at the thought, very slowly opening one eye, as if that might somehow make the situation less alarming. However, as you bring one hand to move your hair away from your sweaty forehead, a small, pointy object bumps against your half-open eye.
You freeze before a sound comes out from your lips, your eyes opening more as you take the sight in front of you — and that’s when you see it.
The fourth finger of your left hand is decorated with the strangest ring you’ve ever seen; dark metal, heavy and – as if the universe is trying to mock you – a small skull carved into the front.
You wouldn’t trust whoever decided to buy this ring, let alone wear it proudly. And yet, it’s on your finger.
A laugh almost escapes you, as you stare at the odd ring, but suddenly your stomach drops in a slow, horrifying realization that feels like it takes years rather than seconds to fully land.
“Oh, shit…” you whisper, your voice unsurprisingly weak.
And that’s when faint, blurry memories hit you stronger than an ocean wave…
Las Vegas.
Too much alcohol. A chapel.
Loud music. Even louder laughter. A man’s hand in yours. Alcohol everywhere. A ring sliding onto your finger while you laughed like none of this had consequences.
And now…
Now you’re lying in a hotel bed, wearing a skull-shaped wedding ring, in a room that never in your wildest dreams you thought you could sleep in.
“No,” you say, more firmly this time, staring at the infamous ring. “No, no, no—”
“Actually…” a voice drawls from somewhere to your left, rough with sleep and entirely too entertained for this early in the morning. “You already said yes. Last night, more than once actually.”
You freeze, breath hitching. Very slowly, you turn your head.
The man lying beside you doesn’t look remotely concerned about the fact that your life has just imploded. If anything, he looks comfortable. Annoyingly comfortable.
One tattooed arm tucked behind his head while his short, dark hair stick up in every direction. The sunlight catches the metal rings in his ears and the small eyebrow piercing above one eye, and for one horrifying second, your brain decides now is the perfect time to acknowledge that he’s attractive.
Extremely, criminally attractive.
Then, as your eyes roam down to his sheet-covered torso, your brain catches up with the rest of the situation.
“Who the fuck are you?”
You didn’t intend to sound so harsh, but how could you not when your life has taken such a sudden turn?
The man’s eyebrows shoot up, giving you a confused look as if your question actually seems to offend him.
“Ouch.”
You exhale, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m serious!”
He mimics your movements, exhaling loudly as his hand emerges from beneath the sheets, and before you can stop him, he holds it up between you.
A matching ring glints on his finger.
Looking exactly like the one you’re wearing…
Your mouth opens in disbelief, your mind scrambling for something – anything – to say. But all you can do is stare at the ring on his finger, then back at his smug expression, which is doing nothing to help you process everything.
“You're joking,” you finally manage, sitting up slightly, the sheets slipping down just enough to reveal the top of my chest. “This isn’t real. This is some kind of dream. Some weird, messed-up dream where I married a guy I don’t even know.”
He blinks slowly, like you’ve just told him the sky is green. Then he leans back, folding his arms behind his head again, looking far too pleased with himself.
“I have better things to do than prank some woman I met last night,” he says, voice still low and sleepy, but there’s a hint of amusement in it. “As a matter of fact, I have no time to.”
He sits up then, mirroring your position, and suddenly you're hyper aware of how close you both are in this king-sized bed. His proximity allows you to take some of his details that feel like a distant, blurry memory — the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips (the bottom one adorned with a small piercing), the perfect bridge of his nose.
You meet his eyes before he could notice your wandering gaze, finding him already staring back at you.
The silence that follows is almost unbearable, stretching on for several long seconds as your brain desperately tries to process everything he's said so far.
Unfortunately, the more you think about it, the worse it gets. Because if he's telling the truth, then somewhere between yesterday and this morning, you somehow ended up married to a man whose last name you don't even know.
A man currently lounging in bed like this entire situation is mildly entertaining instead of a catastrophic life event.
“Wait.” You break the silence, your eyes narrowing suspiciously. One dark eyebrow lifts immediately at the tone of your voice. “You met me last night.”
His expression doesn't change. “That tends to happen before marriage, yeah.”
“No, that's not what I mean.” You point at him accusingingly, nearly tangling yourself in the sheets in the process. “You said you met me last night. So… we were strangers.”
“Correct.” The answer comes so easily that for a second, you think you’ve misheard him.
You stare at him, waiting for any sign of a prank on his expression.
However, it never comes.
Instead, he just looks back at you with the same infuriatingly relaxed expression he’s been wearing ever since you woke up, as if waking up married to a complete stranger is a perfectly normal activity for him.
Then, a grin appears on his face. The kind of grin that immediately makes your stomach sink because it can only mean one thing: he’s about to say something that will ruin your morning even more than it already has.
The amusement dancing in his eyes doesn’t help, nor does the fact that he looks entirely too pleased with himself while you’re sitting here trying to piece together the aftermath of what is shaping up to be the worst decision of your life.
For a brief moment, you consider throwing another pillow at him.
Then, he opens his mouth.
“You proposed.”
A gasp cracks through the room at a volume that makes your already-pounding headache throb harder, but you barely notice.
“I- WHAT?!”
Your brain hears the words, taking long before processing them. Then immediately rejects them as false information because there is absolutely no version of reality in which you would propose to a complete stranger in Las Vegas. You don't care how much alcohol was involved, you don’t even care if someone spiked your drink with liquid insanity. It’s simply impossible!
“First of all,” you say, pointing at him so aggressively your finger actually shakes, “that’s fucking insane.”
The grin only grows.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” you reply immediately, sitting up straighter despite the way your headache punishes you for the movement. “Second, I would never propose to a man. Never! And a stranger, too!”
“You did it twice, actually,” he replies, leaning forward with a devilish smirk. “Once at the bar, and once in front of the chapel.”
Your mouth opens to let a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like a squeak, eyes widening in disbelief.
“You're lying,” you finally get out, shaking your head violently. “You're lying, you're lying, you're lying—”
But the way he's watching you, the way his lips twitch like he's trying not to laugh — it's all adding up to one terrifying conclusion.
“Shit, you're not lying,” you whisper, horror creeping into your voice. “You're not lying. Oh god, I proposed to you…”
He nods slowly, like he's confirming something obvious. “Yeah. You did.”
You feel like you're going to be sick. Or pass out. Or both. Maybe you're already dreaming and any second now you'll wake up in your own bed, safe and unmarried.
But the hard planes of his chest, the warmth radiating off his body, the way the sunlight glints off those stupid skull rings — they're all painfully, undeniably real.
This can't be happening, you mutter, running a trembling hand through your hair. It comes back tangled and smelling vaguely of cigarette smoke and expensive champagne. Wonderful.
“Okay, okay, okay”, you get up from the bed, and thank goodness you’re still fully dressed in your party dress. “Let's just... let's just think about this logically.”
“Hey, hey, where are you going?” He asks, sounding amused and slightly exasperated as he watches you scramble out of bed.
You whirl around to face him, hands on your hips. “I'm thinking, okay?! Trying to figure out how the hell this happened and what we're supposed to do now.”
He leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement causes the sheets to cascade on his upper body, exposing more of his tanned torso and the waistband of his Calvin Klein’s boxers.
“Well, sit down and think faster,” he says, gesturing to the empty space beside him. “Because trust me, you don't want my management team or the press getting involved in our little adventure.”
Your eyes widen at his words, and you stop your frantic movements as you process his words.
“Who the fuck are you?”
You ask that for the second time in a span of five minutes, but this time you feel your panic flooding your body almost entirely.
“Mhm, just the singer of one of the most famous bands in the world. Like I told you last night,” he says with a smirk, his tone sarcastic as he clearly enjoys your flustered state.
“And now apparently also your husband.” His grin widens, showing off perfect white teeth. “Quite the upgrade from whatever you were doing before, huh?”
Suddenly, everything starts to make sense; the comfortable mattress only rich people could afford, the master’s bedroom of a luxurious hotel that you didn’t even know could be so grand, the questionable-looking ring who was more worth than your small apartment…
You swallow your thoughts in one big gulp, trying to remember anything from the previous night that could explain your current state.
Your eyes fixate on the man on the bed, his expression cocky as he stares at your disheveled figure, sulking at your last remaining ounce of composure.
And suddenly, as you dig deeper into your scrambled thoughts, one memory pops up at his sight.
“…Jungkook?”
“There you go, Y/N,” he says, your name rolling on his tongue like sin, while he nods approvingly as recognition flashes across your face. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think I'd have to introduce myself again to my own wife.”
You feel a wave of heat wash over you at his words, your cheeks flushing brightly. The reality of the situation is hitting you harder than ever now. You're really married to him. To the world-famous Jungkook from the infamous rock band that’s on everybody’s mouth. It's surreal, like something out of a trashy romance novel.
“How... How did this happen?” You ask, your voice sounding thin and strained to your own ears. “What the hell were we thinking?”
He shrugs at your question, eyes fixated on your confused expression; somehow, he enjoys the little pout on your face along your wide eyes.
“Well, it would have been rude to refuse a proposal.” He simply states as it’s obvious. “Actually, two proposals.”
Your eyes widen even more, fighting the urge to throw a pillow (or a knife) at him — you never thought you had this much self control before meeting (and marrying) Jeon Jungkook.
“Besides, I could never resist a pretty face begging me to marry her. Twice.” The smirk playing on his lips is infuriatingly sexy, even as your brain short-circuits trying to process his words.
“Okay, I get it!” You roll your eyes, pretending not to care about the warmth pervading your cheeks and neck. “Can we now focus on fixing this mess? Thank you!”
“How?” He raises his pierced eyebrow, clearly amused by your suggestion. “You wanna divorce? Already?” There's a teasing lilt to his voice as he sits up straighter, the sheets pooling around his waist.
You groan in response at his tone. “What other options do we have?”
Jungkook opened his mouth immediately, clearly ready with another smart remark.
“Well,” he said, dragging the word out as he leaned back against the headboard, looking far too comfortable, “we could stay married.”
You stared at him in disbelief, making the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.
“Is this a joke to you? Do you realise what is actually happening? Because I do, and I shouldn’t be here fixing this mess! Fuck, my friends are probably looking for me everywhere…”
You closed your eyes at the throbbing pain in your head, exhaling loudly.
“Oh, come on.” He laughed when your expression turned murderous as soon as he spoke. “I’m just saying. It would save us paperwork.”
“Paperwork? Are you for real?”
“Mhm.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Very serious concern. Bureaucracy is terrifying.”
You narrow your eyes at his nonchalant attitude, frustration boiling inside you. You can feel your patience wearing thinner by the second.
“But what about me?" You snap, your voice rising an octave. "Have you considered how this affects my life?”
You start pacing the room, gesticulating wildly as you continue. “I have a career, you know. Friends and family who will lose their minds when they find out about this. And you...” You jab a finger in his direction. “You're some international superstar who probably does crazy shit like this all the time!”
You pause, realizing how loud you've gotten. Taking a deep breath, you try to compose yourself, but the tremor in your voice betrays your anxiety.
He blinks at your outburst, taken aback by the raw emotion in your voice. For a moment, his cocky facade cracks, revealing a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.
Shit. He hadn't really considered the full weight of the situation on you. In his arrogance, he'd assumed this would be just another wild story to tell, not a life-altering predicament for an innocent bystander caught in his whirlwind.
“Y/N…” He starts, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words. Which is saying something, considering the man is known for his silver tongue. He sits up straighter, the sheets falling away completely as he swings his legs over the side of the bed to face you directly.
He runs a hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Look, I know I come across as... well...” He stops himself, before sighing loudly. “But I promise you, even I have limits. Marrying random fans isn't usually on my agenda.” Despite the lightness of his words, there's a flicker of genuine remorse in his eyes.
“But you're right. We need to figure this out, and fast. Before it blows up in both our faces.” He sighs heavily, the weight of the situation seeming to settle on his shoulders.
You blink in surprise at his sudden show of concern, not expecting such a sincere response from the cocky Jungkook. As the initial shock fades, a playful smirk tugs at your lips.
“I'm not your fan,” you quip, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him back.
His eyebrows shoot up at your declaration, a flash of intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Could've fooled me, the way you kept proposing last night.”
You feel your cheeks flush at his words, a mix of embarrassment and indignation coloring your features.
“Helloooo? I was drunk off my ass, in case you forgot.”You retort, crossing your arms defensively. “That hardly counts as being your fan.”
Despite your best efforts to maintain a stern facade, you can't quite suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. His playful banter is surprisingly effective at diffusing your tension, even as your mind reels from the absurdity of the situation.
Only now do you register that Jungkook is standing mere feet away from you, dressed in nothing but a pair of tight Calvin Klein black boxers that leave little to the imagination. Your eyes can't help but wander over his lean, muscular frame, taking in the intricate tattoos adorning his arm and part of his chest and the way his abs contract with each subtle movement.
He catches you staring and smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. “See something you like, Mrs. Jeon?” he teases, striking a playful pose. The nickname rolls off his tongue smoothly, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.
Realizing the inappropriateness of ogling your new husband while discussing annulling your marriage, you quickly avert your gaze, a fierce blush staining your cheeks. “Don't call me that,”
His grin widens, making you groan and turn away from him.
You press your palms against your eyes for a brief moment; maybe if you count to ten, this entire situation will disappear. Maybe you’ll wake up in your own bed and discover none of this happened. Maybe—
Your train of thought comes to an abrupt halt.
Slowly, your eyes open. Then slowly, very slowly, they drift back toward Jungkook.
“Why are you in your underwear?”
He smirks, somehow your question amusing you. “What, you didn't enjoy our wild wedding night enough to appreciate the view?” he teases.
You gape at him, your face turning an even brighter shade of red. "Excuse me?! Nothing happened last night beyond the unfortunate event of us getting married! I don't remember seeing anything beyond my own puke, let alone your...”
You gesture vaguely at his half-naked form, unable to bring yourself to finish the sentence.
He laughs, the sound rich and warm despite the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Relax, I'm just messing with you,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing happened, I swear. You were busy projectile vomiting in the bathroom after we reached my room… poor thing.”
He glances at you, tilting slightly as he studies you. “You were more fun, last night. It’s true when they say people show their true colours when they’re married…” he jokes, trying to ease the tension despite his own slight sense of panic.
You glare at him, your embarrassment morphing into irritation. “Oh, haha, very funny,” you mutter sarcastically. “I'm glad my misery amuses you so much.”
Shaking your head, you start to pace the room again, your mind racing. “We need to figure this out, Jungkook. Like, immediately. Before someone leaks this to the press and my life become a circus.”
You pause mid-step, a horrifying thought occurring to you. “Wait... you don't think anyone saw us getting married, do you? Because if pictures of this end up online...” You shudder at the idea, feeling lightheaded.
“Naaaaah,” he reassures you with a casual wave of his hand. “Only two of my members were there, Yoongi and Jimin. Trust me, the chances of them taking pics are slim to none.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yoongi barely knows how to work his phone, let alone a proper camera. And Jimin? Nah, he wouldn't risk pissing me off by sneaking photos.”
A mischievous glint enters his eye as he continues, “The only one who might have gotten some decent shots is Namjoon, but unfortunately for us, he wasn't part of our little adventure. Otherwise, he definitely would've put a stop to things before they got this far.”
You groan at his words. “And he just had to be missing last night, huh?” You ask him, shaking your head in disappointment.
However, you soon feel a wave of relief wash over you at what he said, your tense shoulders sagging slightly. At least there's something good in this mess.
“The chapel could still have cameras,” you mutter, running a hand through your tousled hair. “And even if it doesn’t, we can't exactly keep this a secret forever. Someone's bound to notice eventually.”
An idea strikes you, and you turn to face Jungkook fully, a determined set to your jaw. “Okay, here's what we're going to do. First, we need to contact your PR team – or whatever you call it – and tell me them it was just a drunken mistake. Or a prank, I don’t know.”
You hold up a hand, forestalling any potential objections. “And second, we need to get this annulled as soon as possible. I’m sure you can do it here in Vegas in no time, right?”
Jungkook considers your words carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, he snorts loudly.
Actually snorts.
You immediately narrow your eyes at his antics, sighing loudly. “Sorry, it’s just...” He presses his lips together, clearly trying – and failing – not to laugh. “You sound like you're organizing a business meeting.”
“Because somebody has to be responsible.”
“Responsible?” His pierced eyebrow shoots up. “You proposed to a stranger in Las Vegas.”
“I was drunk!”
“Twice.” He repeats, enhancing the sound of each letter.
“Stop bringing up the twice thing, how many times are you gonna do it?!”
You groan loudly, dragging both hands down your face. Every time he mentions it, a new layer of humiliation unlocks inside your soul.
Jungkook watches your suffering for a second before his grin softens slightly.
“Okay,” he says. "Fine. PR team first. Then the annulment, but—”
You stop him before he can continue. “No buts, Jungkook.”
“That’s not how conversation works!” he complains, mirroring the same pout you had just minutes before.
“Do I look like I care?” You ask, fighting the urge to groan.
A laugh escapes him despite himself, and finally, finally, he starts roaming around the room, searching for a piece of clothing.
“But,” he continues, ignoring your protests, “What if it’s not that simple?”
You drop your hands and stare at him, already pissed at whatever his next words are.
“What do you mean, not that simple?”
“I mean exactly that.” He shrugs. “It’s my first time being married, in case you forgot. I don’t know the cancellation policy.”
“Cancellation policy?” you repeat in disbelief. “Jungkook, it’s a marriage, not a Netflix subscription.”
“Well,” he says, finally finding a black tee clean enough to wear, “feels like there should be one.”
You hate that a tiny part of you almost laughs.
Almost.
“It doesn’t matter,” you simply respond, “because your team will take care of everything.”
He pulls the shirt over his head, the fabric stretching across his chest. As he emerges from under the hem, he fixes you with an intense stare.
“You seem awfully eager to make this go away,” he comments, his tone unreadable. "I mean, it’s not everyday that you get to marry a rockstar, you know?”
You almost cringe at his use of words, but he laughs it off, showing once again that he’s simply joking.
However, he immediately pauses, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “Are you certain this is what you want? To just erase it like it never happened?”
There's a vulnerability in his eyes that catches you off guard, a glimpse beneath the confident exterior. “Y/N,” he calls your name softly, walking closer to where you’re standing. “Do you… are you sure you don’t remember anything from last night? Absolutely nothing?”
You blink rapidly, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart skip a beat, and you find yourself momentarily at a loss for words.
“I... What?” you stammer, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What difference does it make whether I remember or not? It was a mistake, Jungkook. A huge, drunken error in judgment, I don’t know you and you don’t know me.”
Despite your words, uncertainty creeps into your voice. The sincerity in his eyes gives you pause, stirring up feelings you'd rather not examine too closely.
“Are you sure about that?”
His question takes you aback, not only his words but the way he drags them weakly yet decisively, whispering yet loud enough for you to hear clearly. It’s like he’s not trying to convince you of something, but reminding you of something you've forgotten.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
You ask, and he steps closer in response. The space between you shrinks so naturally that you don’t realize what’s happening until he’s standing close enough that you can make out every detail of his face — the small scar on his cheek, the dark eyes fixed entirely on yours and the faint scent of his cologne lingering on his skin.
“You can't get to know a person in one night,” you argue, lifting your chin despite the fact that your voice comes out weaker than intended.
His gaze doesn’t leave yours.
“Can’t you?”
Before you can say another one of your remarks, a loud ringtone suddenly cuts through the silence.
The sound makes you both flinch, as if you’ve gotten caught doing God knows what.
Jungkook’s eyes close briefly as he exhales through his nose, before his body moves towards his phone as it continues vibrating insistently on the nightstand.
You don’t get to glance at the screen but you’re certain the name flashing across it clearly means something because Jungkook’s expression changes immediately.
“Shit, okay,” Jungkook mumbles, grabbing the phone with a tight grip. “It’s my manager.” He informs you.
You watch as he glances at the screen, his expression hardening almost instantly. The playful attitude that had been driving you insane all morning vanishes so quickly it's almost theatrical.
One second he's the cocky stranger teasing you about drunken proposals, the next he looks like someone ready to take care of something much bigger than himself.
He answers before the phone can ring again.
“Yeah?”
The response is immediate, sharp as a knife. The person on the other end launches into what sounds like a full-blown panic attack. Even from across the room, you can hear the faint sound of a voice talking so fast it barely seems to pause for oxygen. Jungkook closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“No– no, relax.”
A pause follows, making you tremble in agitation.
“No, nobody knows expect who already told you.” Maybe one of his band members?
His gaze flicks toward you, before another endless stream of words come out of other person’s mouth, echoing in the room.
“No,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “The media isn’t going to find out.”
His tone doesn’t give you the comfort you need, making your gaze fall to the ground. However, you end up lowering your eyes to the ring on your finger, immediately regretting it.
The sight of it sends your thoughts spiraling all over again. It was supposed to be a trip to Vegas with your girl friends, to celebrate the impeding wedding of one of them. Never in your wildest dreams you thought you could be the one getting married. To a rockstar. (How can you forget?)
Suddenly the hotel room feels far too small, the air too heavy, your headache returning with renewed determination.
Across the room, Jungkook is still listening to whatever his manager is saying, but his attention keeps drifting back to you. Eventually he lowers the phone from his ear and sighs.
“Y/N.” You glance up at the sound of your name. “I’ll take care of everything, I promise.”
You nod uncertainly, and he continues. “The media won’t find out,” he says firmly. “You’re not going to end up on some news site. You’re not in trouble, okay?”
The words should make you feel better… part of you thinks they do. However, another part is too overwhelmed to even know what feeling ‘better’ is supposed to look like right now.
All you know is that you’ve spent the last hour trapped inside a room with a stranger who isn’t really a stranger anymore, discussing a marriage that shouldn’t exist, and if you stay here much longer your brain might actually fry.
So while Jungkook goes back to his conversation, you quietly reach for your bag that you eyed previously – thankfully it was thrown away in the armchair next to the bed.
His eyes lift from the floor and find you as you’re sliding the strap onto your shoulder. For a second neither of you says anything while the person on the phone is still talking.
Not murmuring a word, you point toward the door in a silent question. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before understanding settles across his features.
Then, slowly, he nods.
Not because he wants you to leave, but because he understands that right now, after everything that’s happened, you probably need space more than anything else.
You return the nod, push open the door, and step out into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you a second later, leaving only silence in its wake, and for the first time since waking up this morning, you’re finally alone with your thoughts.
Jungkook’s voice still echoes faintly in your head. Not the teasing version of him, not the infuriating smirk or his continuous jokes or the casual arrogance that made you want to throw things at him.
The other version. The one that looked at you like this wasn’t just some ridiculous accident he could laugh off, but something he was already planning how to fix.
You push off the wall and start walking, slower now, your thoughts finally beginning to settle into something less frantic.
Maybe Jungkook is right. Maybe this really does get handled quietly. He’s a celebrity, after all… this is exactly what people like him do when something spirals out of control: clean it up before it ever reaches the outside world.
It almost makes sense, if you don’t think too hard about it. And you’re tired enough not to think too hard about anything right now.
By the time you reach the end of the hallway, your grip on the panic has loosened just enough for you to breathe normally again.
The media won’t find out.
That’s the only thought flowing in your mind — the only words you want to believe from Jungkook’s lips. Because right now, you need them to be true.
And for a brief, fragile moment in the quiet hallway outside a Las Vegas hotel room, you actually believe they might be.
That’s because you don’t see it yet — the way things are already moving beyond that room, beyond his control, beyond yours.
0:00 PROLOGUE | rockstar!jeon jungkook x fem!reader
❪ synopsis ❫ there are three universal rules in a woman’s life; rule #1: don’t marry a stranger in las vegas. rule #2: definitely don’t marry a famous rockstar. rule #3: if you somehow break both rules, try not to fall in love with him.
too bad you failed all three. now you’re stuck with a skull-shaped wedding ring, your name in every frontline and way too much time with the infuriatingly handsome singer of a rock band you accidentally married.
❪ chapter warnings ❫ 18+ THEMES! such as; mention of alcohol consumption ( i mean… it’s a drunken vegas marriage trope ) ,, use of vulgar language ,, mention of vomiting ,, loooots of banter and sexual tension ,, tiny bit of angst ,, jungkook being jungkook
❪ series warnings ❫ strangers to lovers ,, mature themes, such as: SMUT ( more detailed in each chapter ) ,, alcohol consumption ,, mention of drugs ,, angst ,, sexual tension ,, language ,, media scrutiny and online hate :( ,, & more to be added ,, – there will be tons of comedy tho, i promise!
❪ authors note ❫ long time no see :) new jk series eheh !! i got this idea after watching the hangover a few nights ago, hopefully you’ll enjoy ;) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapters !
! click on read more !
The first thing you notice is the light.
It’s cruel in a way only Las Vegas sunlight can manage, slicing through the curtains of a hotel room that definitely costs more per night than your entire month of sanity. You groan before you even fully wake up, turning your face into the pillow in protest, only to realize two things at once: your head is pounding like a drumline, and the pillow you’re holding smells faintly like expensive cologne… a man’s cologne.
Your brain takes a moment to catch up with that information.
A man’s cologne?
You emit a slight groan at the thought, very slowly opening one eye, as if that might somehow make the situation less alarming. However, as you bring one hand to move your hair away from your sweaty forehead, a small, pointy object bumps against your half-open eye.
You freeze before a sound comes out from your lips, your eyes opening more as you take the sight in front of you — and that’s when you see it.
The fourth finger of your left hand is decorated with the strangest ring you’ve ever seen; dark metal, heavy and – as if the universe is trying to mock you – a small skull carved into the front.
You wouldn’t trust whoever decided to buy this ring, let alone wear it proudly. And yet, it’s on your finger.
A laugh almost escapes you, as you stare at the odd ring, but suddenly your stomach drops in a slow, horrifying realization that feels like it takes years rather than seconds to fully land.
“Oh, shit…” you whisper, your voice unsurprisingly weak.
And that’s when faint, blurry memories hit you stronger than an ocean wave…
Las Vegas.
Too much alcohol. A chapel.
Loud music. Even louder laughter. A man’s hand in yours. Alcohol everywhere. A ring sliding onto your finger while you laughed like none of this had consequences.
And now…
Now you’re lying in a hotel bed, wearing a skull-shaped wedding ring, in a room that never in your wildest dreams you thought you could sleep in.
“No,” you say, more firmly this time, staring at the infamous ring. “No, no, no—”
“Actually…” a voice drawls from somewhere to your left, rough with sleep and entirely too entertained for this early in the morning. “You already said yes. Last night, more than once actually.”
You freeze, breath hitching. Very slowly, you turn your head.
The man lying beside you doesn’t look remotely concerned about the fact that your life has just imploded. If anything, he looks comfortable. Annoyingly comfortable.
One tattooed arm tucked behind his head while his short, dark hair stick up in every direction. The sunlight catches the metal rings in his ears and the small eyebrow piercing above one eye, and for one horrifying second, your brain decides now is the perfect time to acknowledge that he’s attractive.
Extremely, criminally attractive.
Then, as your eyes roam down to his sheet-covered torso, your brain catches up with the rest of the situation.
“Who the fuck are you?”
You didn’t intend to sound so harsh, but how could you not when your life has taken such a sudden turn?
The man’s eyebrows shoot up, giving you a confused look as if your question actually seems to offend him.
“Ouch.”
You exhale, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m serious!”
He mimics your movements, exhaling loudly as his hand emerges from beneath the sheets, and before you can stop him, he holds it up between you.
A matching ring glints on his finger.
Looking exactly like the one you’re wearing…
Your mouth opens in disbelief, your mind scrambling for something – anything – to say. But all you can do is stare at the ring on his finger, then back at his smug expression, which is doing nothing to help you process everything.
“You're joking,” you finally manage, sitting up slightly, the sheets slipping down just enough to reveal the top of my chest. “This isn’t real. This is some kind of dream. Some weird, messed-up dream where I married a guy I don’t even know.”
He blinks slowly, like you’ve just told him the sky is green. Then he leans back, folding his arms behind his head again, looking far too pleased with himself.
“I have better things to do than prank some woman I met last night,” he says, voice still low and sleepy, but there’s a hint of amusement in it. “As a matter of fact, I have no time to.”
He sits up then, mirroring your position, and suddenly you're hyper aware of how close you both are in this king-sized bed. His proximity allows you to take some of his details that feel like a distant, blurry memory — the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips (the bottom one adorned with a small piercing), the perfect bridge of his nose.
You meet his eyes before he could notice your wandering gaze, finding him already staring back at you.
The silence that follows is almost unbearable, stretching on for several long seconds as your brain desperately tries to process everything he's said so far.
Unfortunately, the more you think about it, the worse it gets. Because if he's telling the truth, then somewhere between yesterday and this morning, you somehow ended up married to a man whose last name you don't even know.
A man currently lounging in bed like this entire situation is mildly entertaining instead of a catastrophic life event.
“Wait.” You break the silence, your eyes narrowing suspiciously. One dark eyebrow lifts immediately at the tone of your voice. “You met me last night.”
His expression doesn't change. “That tends to happen before marriage, yeah.”
“No, that's not what I mean.” You point at him accusingingly, nearly tangling yourself in the sheets in the process. “You said you met me last night. So… we were strangers.”
“Correct.” The answer comes so easily that for a second, you think you’ve misheard him.
You stare at him, waiting for any sign of a prank on his expression.
However, it never comes.
Instead, he just looks back at you with the same infuriatingly relaxed expression he’s been wearing ever since you woke up, as if waking up married to a complete stranger is a perfectly normal activity for him.
Then, a grin appears on his face. The kind of grin that immediately makes your stomach sink because it can only mean one thing: he’s about to say something that will ruin your morning even more than it already has.
The amusement dancing in his eyes doesn’t help, nor does the fact that he looks entirely too pleased with himself while you’re sitting here trying to piece together the aftermath of what is shaping up to be the worst decision of your life.
For a brief moment, you consider throwing another pillow at him.
Then, he opens his mouth.
“You proposed.”
A gasp cracks through the room at a volume that makes your already-pounding headache throb harder, but you barely notice.
“I- WHAT?!”
Your brain hears the words, taking long before processing them. Then immediately rejects them as false information because there is absolutely no version of reality in which you would propose to a complete stranger in Las Vegas. You don't care how much alcohol was involved, you don’t even care if someone spiked your drink with liquid insanity. It’s simply impossible!
“First of all,” you say, pointing at him so aggressively your finger actually shakes, “that’s fucking insane.”
The grin only grows.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” you reply immediately, sitting up straighter despite the way your headache punishes you for the movement. “Second, I would never propose to a man. Never! And a stranger, too!”
“You did it twice, actually,” he replies, leaning forward with a devilish smirk. “Once at the bar, and once in front of the chapel.”
Your mouth opens to let a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like a squeak, eyes widening in disbelief.
“You're lying,” you finally get out, shaking your head violently. “You're lying, you're lying, you're lying—”
But the way he's watching you, the way his lips twitch like he's trying not to laugh — it's all adding up to one terrifying conclusion.
“Shit, you're not lying,” you whisper, horror creeping into your voice. “You're not lying. Oh god, I proposed to you…”
He nods slowly, like he's confirming something obvious. “Yeah. You did.”
You feel like you're going to be sick. Or pass out. Or both. Maybe you're already dreaming and any second now you'll wake up in your own bed, safe and unmarried.
But the hard planes of his chest, the warmth radiating off his body, the way the sunlight glints off those stupid skull rings — they're all painfully, undeniably real.
This can't be happening, you mutter, running a trembling hand through your hair. It comes back tangled and smelling vaguely of cigarette smoke and expensive champagne. Wonderful.
“Okay, okay, okay”, you get up from the bed, and thank goodness you’re still fully dressed in your party dress. “Let's just... let's just think about this logically.”
“Hey, hey, where are you going?” He asks, sounding amused and slightly exasperated as he watches you scramble out of bed.
You whirl around to face him, hands on your hips. “I'm thinking, okay?! Trying to figure out how the hell this happened and what we're supposed to do now.”
He leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement causes the sheets to cascade on his upper body, exposing more of his tanned torso and the waistband of his Calvin Klein’s boxers.
“Well, sit down and think faster,” he says, gesturing to the empty space beside him. “Because trust me, you don't want my management team or the press getting involved in our little adventure.”
Your eyes widen at his words, and you stop your frantic movements as you process his words.
“Who the fuck are you?”
You ask that for the second time in a span of five minutes, but this time you feel your panic flooding your body almost entirely.
“Mhm, just the singer of one of the most famous bands in the world. Like I told you last night,” he says with a smirk, his tone sarcastic as he clearly enjoys your flustered state.
“And now apparently also your husband.” His grin widens, showing off perfect white teeth. “Quite the upgrade from whatever you were doing before, huh?”
Suddenly, everything starts to make sense; the comfortable mattress only rich people could afford, the master’s bedroom of a luxurious hotel that you didn’t even know could be so grand, the questionable-looking ring who was more worth than your small apartment…
You swallow your thoughts in one big gulp, trying to remember anything from the previous night that could explain your current state.
Your eyes fixate on the man on the bed, his expression cocky as he stares at your disheveled figure, sulking at your last remaining ounce of composure.
And suddenly, as you dig deeper into your scrambled thoughts, one memory pops up at his sight.
“…Jungkook?”
“There you go, Y/N,” he says, your name rolling on his tongue like sin, while he nods approvingly as recognition flashes across your face. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think I'd have to introduce myself again to my own wife.”
You feel a wave of heat wash over you at his words, your cheeks flushing brightly. The reality of the situation is hitting you harder than ever now. You're really married to him. To the world-famous Jungkook from the infamous rock band that’s on everybody’s mouth. It's surreal, like something out of a trashy romance novel.
“How... How did this happen?” You ask, your voice sounding thin and strained to your own ears. “What the hell were we thinking?”
He shrugs at your question, eyes fixated on your confused expression; somehow, he enjoys the little pout on your face along your wide eyes.
“Well, it would have been rude to refuse a proposal.” He simply states as it’s obvious. “Actually, two proposals.”
Your eyes widen even more, fighting the urge to throw a pillow (or a knife) at him — you never thought you had this much self control before meeting (and marrying) Jeon Jungkook.
“Besides, I could never resist a pretty face begging me to marry her. Twice.” The smirk playing on his lips is infuriatingly sexy, even as your brain short-circuits trying to process his words.
“Okay, I get it!” You roll your eyes, pretending not to care about the warmth pervading your cheeks and neck. “Can we now focus on fixing this mess? Thank you!”
“How?” He raises his pierced eyebrow, clearly amused by your suggestion. “You wanna divorce? Already?” There's a teasing lilt to his voice as he sits up straighter, the sheets pooling around his waist.
You groan in response at his tone. “What other options do we have?”
Jungkook opened his mouth immediately, clearly ready with another smart remark.
“Well,” he said, dragging the word out as he leaned back against the headboard, looking far too comfortable, “we could stay married.”
You stared at him in disbelief, making the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.
“Is this a joke to you? Do you realise what is actually happening? Because I do, and I shouldn’t be here fixing this mess! Fuck, my friends are probably looking for me everywhere…”
You closed your eyes at the throbbing pain in your head, exhaling loudly.
“Oh, come on.” He laughed when your expression turned murderous as soon as he spoke. “I’m just saying. It would save us paperwork.”
“Paperwork? Are you for real?”
“Mhm.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Very serious concern. Bureaucracy is terrifying.”
You narrow your eyes at his nonchalant attitude, frustration boiling inside you. You can feel your patience wearing thinner by the second.
“But what about me?" You snap, your voice rising an octave. "Have you considered how this affects my life?”
You start pacing the room, gesticulating wildly as you continue. “I have a career, you know. Friends and family who will lose their minds when they find out about this. And you...” You jab a finger in his direction. “You're some international superstar who probably does crazy shit like this all the time!”
You pause, realizing how loud you've gotten. Taking a deep breath, you try to compose yourself, but the tremor in your voice betrays your anxiety.
He blinks at your outburst, taken aback by the raw emotion in your voice. For a moment, his cocky facade cracks, revealing a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.
Shit. He hadn't really considered the full weight of the situation on you. In his arrogance, he'd assumed this would be just another wild story to tell, not a life-altering predicament for an innocent bystander caught in his whirlwind.
“Y/N…” He starts, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words. Which is saying something, considering the man is known for his silver tongue. He sits up straighter, the sheets falling away completely as he swings his legs over the side of the bed to face you directly.
He runs a hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Look, I know I come across as... well...” He stops himself, before sighing loudly. “But I promise you, even I have limits. Marrying random fans isn't usually on my agenda.” Despite the lightness of his words, there's a flicker of genuine remorse in his eyes.
“But you're right. We need to figure this out, and fast. Before it blows up in both our faces.” He sighs heavily, the weight of the situation seeming to settle on his shoulders.
You blink in surprise at his sudden show of concern, not expecting such a sincere response from the cocky Jungkook. As the initial shock fades, a playful smirk tugs at your lips.
“I'm not your fan,” you quip, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him back.
His eyebrows shoot up at your declaration, a flash of intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Could've fooled me, the way you kept proposing last night.”
You feel your cheeks flush at his words, a mix of embarrassment and indignation coloring your features.
“Helloooo? I was drunk off my ass, in case you forgot.”You retort, crossing your arms defensively. “That hardly counts as being your fan.”
Despite your best efforts to maintain a stern facade, you can't quite suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. His playful banter is surprisingly effective at diffusing your tension, even as your mind reels from the absurdity of the situation.
Only now do you register that Jungkook is standing mere feet away from you, dressed in nothing but a pair of tight Calvin Klein black boxers that leave little to the imagination. Your eyes can't help but wander over his lean, muscular frame, taking in the intricate tattoos adorning his arm and part of his chest and the way his abs contract with each subtle movement.
He catches you staring and smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. “See something you like, Mrs. Jeon?” he teases, striking a playful pose. The nickname rolls off his tongue smoothly, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.
Realizing the inappropriateness of ogling your new husband while discussing annulling your marriage, you quickly avert your gaze, a fierce blush staining your cheeks. “Don't call me that,”
His grin widens, making you groan and turn away from him.
You press your palms against your eyes for a brief moment; maybe if you count to ten, this entire situation will disappear. Maybe you’ll wake up in your own bed and discover none of this happened. Maybe—
Your train of thought comes to an abrupt halt.
Slowly, your eyes open. Then slowly, very slowly, they drift back toward Jungkook.
“Why are you in your underwear?”
He smirks, somehow your question amusing you. “What, you didn't enjoy our wild wedding night enough to appreciate the view?” he teases.
You gape at him, your face turning an even brighter shade of red. "Excuse me?! Nothing happened last night beyond the unfortunate event of us getting married! I don't remember seeing anything beyond my own puke, let alone your...”
You gesture vaguely at his half-naked form, unable to bring yourself to finish the sentence.
He laughs, the sound rich and warm despite the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Relax, I'm just messing with you,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing happened, I swear. You were busy projectile vomiting in the bathroom after we reached my room… poor thing.”
He glances at you, tilting slightly as he studies you. “You were more fun, last night. It’s true when they say people show their true colours when they’re married…” he jokes, trying to ease the tension despite his own slight sense of panic.
You glare at him, your embarrassment morphing into irritation. “Oh, haha, very funny,” you mutter sarcastically. “I'm glad my misery amuses you so much.”
Shaking your head, you start to pace the room again, your mind racing. “We need to figure this out, Jungkook. Like, immediately. Before someone leaks this to the press and my life become a circus.”
You pause mid-step, a horrifying thought occurring to you. “Wait... you don't think anyone saw us getting married, do you? Because if pictures of this end up online...” You shudder at the idea, feeling lightheaded.
“Naaaaah,” he reassures you with a casual wave of his hand. “Only two of my members were there, Yoongi and Jimin. Trust me, the chances of them taking pics are slim to none.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yoongi barely knows how to work his phone, let alone a proper camera. And Jimin? Nah, he wouldn't risk pissing me off by sneaking photos.”
A mischievous glint enters his eye as he continues, “The only one who might have gotten some decent shots is Namjoon, but unfortunately for us, he wasn't part of our little adventure. Otherwise, he definitely would've put a stop to things before they got this far.”
You groan at his words. “And he just had to be missing last night, huh?” You ask him, shaking your head in disappointment.
However, you soon feel a wave of relief wash over you at what he said, your tense shoulders sagging slightly. At least there's something good in this mess.
“The chapel could still have cameras,” you mutter, running a hand through your tousled hair. “And even if it doesn’t, we can't exactly keep this a secret forever. Someone's bound to notice eventually.”
An idea strikes you, and you turn to face Jungkook fully, a determined set to your jaw. “Okay, here's what we're going to do. First, we need to contact your PR team – or whatever you call it – and tell me them it was just a drunken mistake. Or a prank, I don’t know.”
You hold up a hand, forestalling any potential objections. “And second, we need to get this annulled as soon as possible. I’m sure you can do it here in Vegas in no time, right?”
Jungkook considers your words carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, he snorts loudly.
Actually snorts.
You immediately narrow your eyes at his antics, sighing loudly. “Sorry, it’s just...” He presses his lips together, clearly trying – and failing – not to laugh. “You sound like you're organizing a business meeting.”
“Because somebody has to be responsible.”
“Responsible?” His pierced eyebrow shoots up. “You proposed to a stranger in Las Vegas.”
“I was drunk!”
“Twice.” He repeats, enhancing the sound of each letter.
“Stop bringing up the twice thing, how many times are you gonna do it?!”
You groan loudly, dragging both hands down your face. Every time he mentions it, a new layer of humiliation unlocks inside your soul.
Jungkook watches your suffering for a second before his grin softens slightly.
“Okay,” he says. "Fine. PR team first. Then the annulment, but—”
You stop him before he can continue. “No buts, Jungkook.”
“That’s not how conversation works!” he complains, mirroring the same pout you had just minutes before.
“Do I look like I care?” You ask, fighting the urge to groan.
A laugh escapes him despite himself, and finally, finally, he starts roaming around the room, searching for a piece of clothing.
“But,” he continues, ignoring your protests, “What if it’s not that simple?”
You drop your hands and stare at him, already pissed at whatever his next words are.
“What do you mean, not that simple?”
“I mean exactly that.” He shrugs. “It’s my first time being married, in case you forgot. I don’t know the cancellation policy.”
“Cancellation policy?” you repeat in disbelief. “Jungkook, it’s a marriage, not a Netflix subscription.”
“Well,” he says, finally finding a black tee clean enough to wear, “feels like there should be one.”
You hate that a tiny part of you almost laughs.
Almost.
“It doesn’t matter,” you simply respond, “because your team will take care of everything.”
He pulls the shirt over his head, the fabric stretching across his chest. As he emerges from under the hem, he fixes you with an intense stare.
“You seem awfully eager to make this go away,” he comments, his tone unreadable. "I mean, it’s not everyday that you get to marry a rockstar, you know?”
You almost cringe at his use of words, but he laughs it off, showing once again that he’s simply joking.
However, he immediately pauses, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “Are you certain this is what you want? To just erase it like it never happened?”
There's a vulnerability in his eyes that catches you off guard, a glimpse beneath the confident exterior. “Y/N,” he calls your name softly, walking closer to where you’re standing. “Do you… are you sure you don’t remember anything from last night? Absolutely nothing?”
You blink rapidly, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart skip a beat, and you find yourself momentarily at a loss for words.
“I... What?” you stammer, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What difference does it make whether I remember or not? It was a mistake, Jungkook. A huge, drunken error in judgment, I don’t know you and you don’t know me.”
Despite your words, uncertainty creeps into your voice. The sincerity in his eyes gives you pause, stirring up feelings you'd rather not examine too closely.
“Are you sure about that?”
His question takes you aback, not only his words but the way he drags them weakly yet decisively, whispering yet loud enough for you to hear clearly. It’s like he’s not trying to convince you of something, but reminding you of something you've forgotten.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
You ask, and he steps closer in response. The space between you shrinks so naturally that you don’t realize what’s happening until he’s standing close enough that you can make out every detail of his face — the small scar on his cheek, the dark eyes fixed entirely on yours and the faint scent of his cologne lingering on his skin.
“You can't get to know a person in one night,” you argue, lifting your chin despite the fact that your voice comes out weaker than intended.
His gaze doesn’t leave yours.
“Can’t you?”
Before you can say another one of your remarks, a loud ringtone suddenly cuts through the silence.
The sound makes you both flinch, as if you’ve gotten caught doing God knows what.
Jungkook’s eyes close briefly as he exhales through his nose, before his body moves towards his phone as it continues vibrating insistently on the nightstand.
You don’t get to glance at the screen but you’re certain the name flashing across it clearly means something because Jungkook’s expression changes immediately.
“Shit, okay,” Jungkook mumbles, grabbing the phone with a tight grip. “It’s my manager.” He informs you.
You watch as he glances at the screen, his expression hardening almost instantly. The playful attitude that had been driving you insane all morning vanishes so quickly it's almost theatrical.
One second he's the cocky stranger teasing you about drunken proposals, the next he looks like someone ready to take care of something much bigger than himself.
He answers before the phone can ring again.
“Yeah?”
The response is immediate, sharp as a knife. The person on the other end launches into what sounds like a full-blown panic attack. Even from across the room, you can hear the faint sound of a voice talking so fast it barely seems to pause for oxygen. Jungkook closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“No– no, relax.”
A pause follows, making you tremble in agitation.
“No, nobody knows expect who already told you.” Maybe one of his band members?
His gaze flicks toward you, before another endless stream of words come out of other person’s mouth, echoing in the room.
“No,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “The media isn’t going to find out.”
His tone doesn’t give you the comfort you need, making your gaze fall to the ground. However, you end up lowering your eyes to the ring on your finger, immediately regretting it.
The sight of it sends your thoughts spiraling all over again. It was supposed to be a trip to Vegas with your girl friends, to celebrate the impeding wedding of one of them. Never in your wildest dreams you thought you could be the one getting married. To a rockstar. (How can you forget?)
Suddenly the hotel room feels far too small, the air too heavy, your headache returning with renewed determination.
Across the room, Jungkook is still listening to whatever his manager is saying, but his attention keeps drifting back to you. Eventually he lowers the phone from his ear and sighs.
“Y/N.” You glance up at the sound of your name. “I’ll take care of everything, I promise.”
You nod uncertainly, and he continues. “The media won’t find out,” he says firmly. “You’re not going to end up on some news site. You’re not in trouble, okay?”
The words should make you feel better… part of you thinks they do. However, another part is too overwhelmed to even know what feeling ‘better’ is supposed to look like right now.
All you know is that you’ve spent the last hour trapped inside a room with a stranger who isn’t really a stranger anymore, discussing a marriage that shouldn’t exist, and if you stay here much longer your brain might actually fry.
So while Jungkook goes back to his conversation, you quietly reach for your bag that you eyed previously – thankfully it was thrown away in the armchair next to the bed.
His eyes lift from the floor and find you as you’re sliding the strap onto your shoulder. For a second neither of you says anything while the person on the phone is still talking.
Not murmuring a word, you point toward the door in a silent question. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before understanding settles across his features.
Then, slowly, he nods.
Not because he wants you to leave, but because he understands that right now, after everything that’s happened, you probably need space more than anything else.
You return the nod, push open the door, and step out into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you a second later, leaving only silence in its wake, and for the first time since waking up this morning, you’re finally alone with your thoughts.
Jungkook’s voice still echoes faintly in your head. Not the teasing version of him, not the infuriating smirk or his continuous jokes or the casual arrogance that made you want to throw things at him.
The other version. The one that looked at you like this wasn’t just some ridiculous accident he could laugh off, but something he was already planning how to fix.
You push off the wall and start walking, slower now, your thoughts finally beginning to settle into something less frantic.
Maybe Jungkook is right. Maybe this really does get handled quietly. He’s a celebrity, after all… this is exactly what people like him do when something spirals out of control: clean it up before it ever reaches the outside world.
It almost makes sense, if you don’t think too hard about it. And you’re tired enough not to think too hard about anything right now.
By the time you reach the end of the hallway, your grip on the panic has loosened just enough for you to breathe normally again.
The media won’t find out.
That’s the only thought flowing in your mind — the only words you want to believe from Jungkook’s lips. Because right now, you need them to be true.
And for a brief, fragile moment in the quiet hallway outside a Las Vegas hotel room, you actually believe they might be.
That’s because you don’t see it yet — the way things are already moving beyond that room, beyond his control, beyond yours.
