Kryia-G

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[kryia-g]

Letters | PJM | Masterlist

Pair: Manager reader x Idol Hybrid Retriever Jimin

Summary: It started off simple. Get her name, her number, stick with her. Simple right? Not so simple when you end up striking the conversation before he can. So Jimin set a game for himself. 

But then you won his heart, so fast, so sudden, and yet, so abruptly leaving him. Jimin doesn’t want to understand why you never told him you were never from Korea, Jimin understands you wanting to go home. Jimin doesn’t want to go but in the end, Jimin was the one that put distance between the both of you. 

Talk about mixed signals. 

So what happens when Jimin suddenly meets you again after over a decade? 

He no longer wants to lose the game. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: sport trauma, smut, fluff, angst

A/N: In this fic, it is more similar to Namjoon’s Wildflower. Hybrids and humans coexist that it is normal. There are no drastic differences in their laws and rights. 

Taglist: @graydolan12 @lovejkmilitarywife @forevermoon1306 @boredhoneybun

Total WC: 32747

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

🦴

[kryia-g]

Love Maze | JJK | Chapter 11

Pair: Hybrid Bunny Hybrid x F Reader 

Summary: Y/N is someone who never planned to adopt a hybrid—until she meets Jungkook, a withdrawn rabbit hybrid feared by everyone at the shelter. She brings him home thinking it’ll be a quiet fresh start, but strange signs soon appear: a scar on his neck, panic around cars, and someone suddenly digging into his records.

When threats begin to surface, Y/N realises Jungkook wasn’t simply abandoned—he was taken, tracked, and never meant to stay free. With no power or connections, she’s forced to fight in the only way she can: by refusing to give him back, and protecting him with everything she has.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: angst, abuse, smut (I'll add on more when I write more!)

Tags: @esposadomd @faelvz @svnk1ssd @toskaesuriennt @somehowukook @fluffysheepmaster @svnbangtansworld @teardoong @wonznme @smoljimjim @ttipa @untitled37315 @forevermoon1306 @juju-227592 @cigdoposex @lovejkmilitarywife @mikrokookiex @luckyruinswonderland @jungkooknippleanddicksucker

WC: 2116

< Prev. Series mstr. Next > 

Winter settled in properly the week before Christmas.

Not the quiet dusting of snow from earlier in the season, but the kind that clung—thick, deliberate, turning the city into something softer and slower. The park outside your apartment looked hushed beneath white blankets, footsteps muffled, breath visible in the air like proof that people were still there.

Jungkook loved it.

He stood at the window most mornings, wrapped in one of your oversized sweaters, watching snow fall like it was a secret the sky kept telling him over and over.

“It feels… forgiving,” he said one morning.

You glanced up from your mug. “Snow?”

“Winter,” he corrected softly. “Everything stops yelling for a while.”

You smiled. “That’s true.”

December crept forward in gentle ways. Work slowed. Advocacy meetings paused for the holidays. Jungkook’s course wrapped up for the year, leaving him with too much free time and a restless energy that came out in strange bursts—rearranging the bookshelf three times, reorganising the pantry, baking cookies at midnight because he “wanted the apartment to smell warm.”

You didn’t complain.

You liked watching him exist without fear snapping at his heels.

Christmas decorations appeared almost by accident. A string of lights hung crookedly across the living room. A small tree took up space near the window, decorated with mismatched ornaments Jungkook brought home from the centre.

He lingered over one in particular—a small paper rabbit with uneven ears.

“They made these for people who helped them,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think they’d… give me one.”

You took it gently from his hands and hung it at eye level. “Then it belongs here.”

He stared at it for a long moment, throat working. “Thank you,” he murmured—not just for the ornament.

The nights grew longer.

Colder.

Some evenings, Jungkook shifted into rabbit form and curled up beside you on the couch, ears twitching as the heater hummed. Other nights, he stayed human, tucked close, sharing blankets and quiet like it was something sacred.

There was tension between you—not uncomfortable, not sharp, but charged. Something waiting.

Neither of you named it.

Not yet.

On Christmas Eve, the snow came down hard.

The city shut itself in early, streets emptying, lights glowing warm behind windows. You cooked together, moving easily around each other in the kitchen, brushing shoulders, sharing space like it had always been this way.

Jungkook burned the garlic bread.

Again.

You laughed, waving smoke away. “You’re banned from the oven.”

He groaned. “I was watching it!”

“You were emotionally watching it,” you teased.

Dinner ended up being simple but good—nothing fancy, just food that felt earned. You ate at the small table near the window, watching snow pile against the glass.

Afterward, Jungkook disappeared into the bedroom and came back holding a small box, hands visibly nervous.

“I know we said no pressure,” he said quickly. “And this isn’t—like—it’s not a big thing—”

You smiled gently. “Okay. Breathe.”

He exhaled, shoulders dropping. “I got you something.”

You took the box carefully.

Inside was a simple scarf—soft, thick, hand-knit in a neutral colour. You ran your fingers over it.

“You made this,” you said.

He nodded, cheeks flushing. “I messed up the pattern. Twice.”

“It’s perfect,” you said honestly.

He smiled—small, relieved.

“I didn’t know what to get you,” he admitted. “I don’t have much money, and I didn’t want it to feel like I was trying to… repay you.”

Your chest tightened.

“You don’t owe me anything,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I wanted to give you something anyway.”

You stood and wrapped the scarf around your neck, then stepped closer and hugged him.

He froze for half a second—then relaxed fully into it, arms wrapping around you with a warmth that made your breath catch.

You stayed like that longer than necessary.

Long enough for something to settle.

Later, you sat together on the couch, lights dimmed, the tree glowing softly beside you. Snow continued to fall outside, thick and relentless.

Jungkook stared at the window, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked quietly.

You turned toward him. “Always.”

He swallowed. “I’ve been scared of this.”

“Of what?”

“Of wanting,” he said. “Of wanting something good. Because for a long time, wanting meant punishment.”

Your heart ached.

“And now?” you asked softly.

“And now,” he said, voice trembling just slightly, “I want you. And that terrifies me.”

You didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t know how to separate gratitude from affection,” he continued. “Or safety from love. I don’t want to confuse the two and hurt you.”

You reached out slowly, resting your hand over his. “Jungkook.”

He looked at you.

“I don’t want anything from you that you’re not choosing,” you said. “And I don’t need you to be sure about everything right now.”

He searched your face. “But… do you feel it too?”

The room felt very still.

“Yes,” you said quietly. “I do.”

His breath hitched.

“I’ve felt it for a while,” you admitted. “But I didn’t want to rush you. Or make you feel like you had to give me something back.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “We’re really bad at this.”

You smiled. “We’re careful.”

He nodded. “Careful can be good.”

The space between you felt electric now—soft, deliberate.

“Can we try?” he asked. “Slowly. Gently.”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. “We can try.”

He leaned in—not all at once, not rushed—giving you time to pull back if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Your lips met softly, barely a kiss at all, more a promise than an action. Jungkook trembled slightly, then relaxed as you kissed him again, warmer this time.

He pulled back first, forehead resting against yours, breath uneven.

“That was…” He exhaled. “Okay.”

You laughed quietly. “Yeah. It was.”

He smiled—wide, real, unguarded.

Outside, the snow kept falling.

At midnight, you exchanged quiet hopes. Jungkook shifted briefly into rabbit form, hopping clumsily onto the couch between you before shifting back, laughing at himself.

“I wanted to start Christmas like me,” he said sheepishly.

You kissed his cheek. “I like you.”

He blinked. “Just like?”

You smiled, eyes warm. “I like you very much.”

Christmas morning was gentle.

No rush. No obligations. Just soft light through the window, shared blankets, and breakfast eaten slowly. Jungkook leaned against you as you watched snow sparkle outside.

“This,” he said quietly, “feels like something I used to think I wasn’t allowed to have.”

You pressed a kiss to his hair. “You are.”

Later, as you walked through the park hand in hand, bundled against the cold, Jungkook squeezed your fingers.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For choosing me,” he replied. “Not as a project. Not as a responsibility.”

You smiled. “I chose you because I wanted to.”

He grinned—bright, fearless.

The strange thing about becoming a couple was how little changed—and how much everything did at the same time.

You still woke up to the same city sounds. The kettle still took too long to boil. Jungkook still forgot where he put his phone and panicked for five full minutes before finding it in his pocket.

But now, there are small, intentional moments where you checked in with each other, where silence wasn’t empty.

You realised Jungkook woke before you not because of noise—he’d learned how to move quietly—but because the warmth beside you was gone. You frowned faintly, half-asleep, before hearing soft movement in the kitchen.

You padded out in socks to find him standing by the counter, wearing one of your hoodies, hair still rumpled from sleep. He was staring intently at a mug like it had personally offended him.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He startled, then relaxed when he saw it was you. “Yeah. I was just… thinking.”

You leaned against the doorway. “Dangerous.”

He huffed a laugh. “A little.”

He hesitated, then turned toward you fully. “Is it weird if I ask what… this means now?”

You considered that. “What do you think it means?”

“That we’re together,” he said slowly. “But not in a way that erases everything else.”

Your chest warmed. “That sounds right.”

He nodded. “I don’t want to rush. I don’t want to feel like I owe you closeness just because we’re dating.”

“You don’t,” you said immediately.

“I know,” he replied. “I just need to hear it sometimes.”

You stepped closer, resting your hands lightly on his forearms. “You don’t owe me touch. Or affection. Or progress. I like you as you are—today.”

His shoulders dropped, tension easing like a breath released.

“Okay,” he murmured.

Later, you sat together on the couch, a blanket draped loosely over both of you. Jungkook leaned into your side, tentative at first, like he was checking whether gravity still worked the same way.

It did.

You rested your head against his shoulder. He froze for half a second—then relaxed, arm sliding around you slowly, carefully.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You smiled. “Yeah. Is it okay for you?”

“Yes,” he said, surprised. “It is.”

You stayed like that for a long time.

No expectations or timeline. Just warmth.

Over the next few days, affection found its own language between you.

A hand brushing yours on the kitchen counter. A kiss pressed softly to your temple when you were distracted. Jungkook sitting closer than necessary, legs touching, pinky fingers hooking together absentmindedly.

He was still cautious—but not closed.

One evening, after a particularly cold walk home, Jungkook kicked off his shoes and collapsed dramatically onto the couch.

“I am never leaving this blanket,” he declared.

You laughed and climbed in beside him. “Bold statement.”

He wriggled closer, wrapping himself around you like a very determined octopus. You stiffened for half a second out of surprise—then melted into it.

“Oh,” you murmured. “You’re cuddly.”

He blinked up at you. “Is that… bad?”

“No,” you said fondly. “It’s very good.”

He smiled—soft, shy, pleased—and tucked his face into the crook of your neck. You felt his breath warm against your skin, steady and real.

“Can I stay like this?” he asked quietly.

“As long as you want.”

He sighed, content.

Sometimes, he shifted into rabbit form while you watched TV, curling up against your hip, ears twitching when you laughed. Other times, he stayed human, head in your lap while you traced idle patterns through his hair.

He learned quickly what touch felt safe.

So did you.

One night, curled together beneath too many blankets, Jungkook spoke into the quiet.

“I didn’t think I’d be good at this,” he admitted.

“At what?”

“Being someone’s partner,” he said. “I’m still learning how to exist without waiting for permission.”

You brushed your thumb along his jaw. “You don’t need to be perfect at it. Just honest.”

He nodded slowly. “Then I need to say something.”

You waited.

“Sometimes I pull away not because I don’t want you,” he said, voice low. “But because I’m scared of how much I do.”

Your heart skipped. “Thank you for telling me,” you said gently.

He searched your face. “You’re not… upset?”

“No,” you replied. “I’m glad you trust me enough to say it.”

He exhaled, relief washing over him. “I want to keep talking,” he added. “Even when it’s uncomfortable.”

You smiled. “Me too.”

Physical closeness came with rules you made together.

No touching during flashbacks. No surprises from behind. No guilt if one of you needed space.

And affection—when it came—was chosen, never assumed. A trust that sets the foundation of what it means to be simply together for the both of you. 

One afternoon, snow falling lightly outside, Jungkook sat beside you on the floor while you sorted paperwork. He leaned over, peering at your notes.

“You’re frowning,” he observed.

“You’re distracting,” you replied.

He grinned. “On purpose.”

Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you—soft, brief, like he was testing the ground. When he pulled back, his eyes were wide.

“Was that okay?” he asked immediately.

You laughed softly. “Yes. Very.”

His smile was slow and radiant.

Later that night, you lay in bed together close enough to feel each other breathe. Jungkook traced circles on your arm, thoughtful.

“I like this,” he said.

“This?”

“Being with you without having to perform,” he explained. “Without being useful or strong or grateful.”

You turned to face him. “You don’t have to earn love.”

He nodded, eyes shining. “I’m starting to believe that.”

The days blurred into something gentle.

Shared meals. Shared silence. Shared warmth.

Healing didn’t stop just because love arrived—but love did make the healing feel less lonely.

One night, half-asleep, Jungkook shifted closer and murmured, “I’m glad it’s you.”

You smiled into the darkness. “Me too.”

[kryia-g]

Letters | PJM | Chapter 3

Pair: Manager reader x Idol Hybrid Retriever Jimin

Summary: It started off simple. Get her name, her number, stick with her. Simple right? Not so simple when you end up striking the conversation before he can. So Jimin set a game for himself. 

But then you won his heart, so fast, so sudden, and yet, so abruptly leaving him. Jimin doesn’t want to understand why you never told him you were never from Korea, Jimin understands you wanting to go home. Jimin doesn’t want to go but in the end, Jimin was the one that put distance between the both of you. 

Talk about mixed signals. 

So what happens when Jimin suddenly meets you again after over a decade? 

He no longer wants to lose the game. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: sport trauma, smut

WC: 1455

A/N: I swear this is the last backstory. We’ll be transmigrating to present time in the next chapter 😌

Taglist: @graydolan12 @lovejkmilitarywife @forevermoon1306 @boredhoneybun

< Prev. Series mstr. Next >

I will gladly keep it away  Go and laugh and live  I will keep it away  Go and run and smile

Days pass like the wind. 

Everything was so easy, so smooth, so simple. 

School was fun, friends were fun, life was fun. 

And opportunities were flowing. 

Jimin was excited. 

He had been asked to go to a studio for an audition for BigHit. A dancer like Jimin - a person like Jimin - has now learnt to never pass up a good opportunity. So, he headed over with his father, the both of them buzzing nerves. 

The building where the studio was at was run down, some lights flickering in the hallways as a they waited outside with multiple other performers. Jimin was nervous. Very, very nervous. 

Had he been this jittery before?

Probably not that he remembered. 

His father offered him some simple snacks, trying to keep his son from overthinking the situation. “Jimin-ah, just do your best. It doesn’t matter what results come out of it. There are always more opportunities that can come your way.” He patted him on his shoulders. “We are already very glad you have something you like and we will support you in any way you need.” 

Jimin knew that. He nodded. 

But because of that, the pressure also felt immense. 

If he joined the company, he could probably level up his performing skills much faster. 

When it was his time to perform, Jimin stepped to the middle with sweaty palms and bitten lips. His heart raced as he waited for his music to begin. His performance was a reflection of himself - it was a piece that told a never ending story. He felt himself going through the choreography easily, but when he spared a look at the judges, he felt cold. 

The judgemental gaze in their mouths, the way their eyes do not smile -

Jimin slipped on a landing, legs under him. 

No… No, not again. No. 

He felt his breaths come in sharp pants as he got up, wincing from the fall. He tried to get back into the performance but he was out of it. 

It wasn’t working. 

Useless. 

Again. 

Jimin bit his lips. 

No… He had to do something. He had to try something - 

The music hit crescendo as Jimin turned without feeling. But this part and the upcoming parts and this whole piece… 

Get up and try again. 

It was a choreography he had spent countless hours perfecting, countless discussions with you on how to enhance it. It wasn’t just his work. It wasn’t just his story. It compiled your time, effort, and encouragement. It was a story about a journey to how he got to where he is now, and how he managed to make the strength to climb again thanks to a very important person by his side. 

He had to make sure it resonated. He had to make sure he made their heartless souls feel what you have done for him too. 

So Jimin gritted his teeth and danced - for him, for them, for you. 

School never felt weirder than when you go back to collect result sheets when you have technically graduated. Imagine the stares at your backs and the whispers that fly through the hallways. Some of your classmates have gotten adventurous within the 3 months - dyed hair, nose piercing, tattoos. Not that you minded but school code required them to cover up. 

So it made it all the weirder when you sat beside your classmates in index numbers, waiting for your name to be called so that you could receive your results and certificates. 

School has started for the other students and your brain instantly shifts to Jimin. You wonder who he would eat lunch with now, how he would spend his time in the dance studio, or even what he was going to eat. You sighed, resigning as you looked out the windows. 

The certificate suddenly felt heavy in your hands. 

You didn’t feel like leaving but this chapter of your life needs to close so that you could move on. You wished it didn’t. It was easy, simple, and happy with him around. Life and trying didn’t feel as hard or as tedious with him prancing about you, sprouting random facts as the both of you ate. 

The graduation ceremony closed off with the last time any of you would sing and recite the school anthem and pledge as students. 

How nostalgic. 

You headed to the dance studio right after, sitting at a corner of the floor until the school bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. You wondered if Jimin would still come here. So you waited, head nestled on your knees as you looked at the door. 

You didn’t have to wait long before you heard the familiar pitter-patter of footsteps and a tug against the door. You smiled softly, able to tell the moment when Jimin was surprised and then relieved to see you in the studio. 

“What - I didn’t expect - No nothing, nevermind.” You found his stuttering endearing, as you did of his many actions. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Jimin sat beside you.

The both of you enjoyed each other’s presence in silence. 

Soon, Jimin leaned his head against your frame and you let him today. Normally, you would complain that he’s being heavy and whine, but today… 

You couldn’t.

The words never even reached the base of your throat. 

“Y/N.” Jimin started. 

You hummed, wondering what’s so important he got you out of a sleeping trance. 

“I got into BigHit.” 

It took awhile for your sleep-addled brain to catch up but when it finally did, you shot up, leaving Jimin sprawled on the ground. 

“Ouch! A warning, Noona!” He rubbed the side of his head, pouting. 

But you were too happy about the news - elated, really. 

“Oh my gosh! You got in! You did it!” Or maybe overjoyed, excited, absolutely jumping were better words. 

Jimin’s smile was so bright it practically blinded you. “We did it, Noona. Thank you for helping me and always being there for me all these years.” Jimin pouted. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you now.”

You ruffled his hair. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find your pace again. You’ll have more time with the rest of your friends now!”

Jimin’s pout deepened, making you laugh at his reluctance. 

“You’re so silly, Jimin.” You wiped tears from your eyes. “And congratulations. I’ll be cheering as a big big fan. I’m the first fan, you have got to remember me when you debut!”

When. Not if. Never if. 

Because you know Jimin will do anything to get what he wants. 

Jimin’s plan did fail. 

Jimin minded a hell lot. He really liked you. But it never seemed more than the boundaries you set and you were always so strict with yourself that he didn’t want to push you. He didn’t want to be a responsibility to you just because he was a friend. 

But Jimin is sad. Heartbroken. Devastated. 

You brought his life light when it looked like the abyss never ended. 

So, yes, Jimin minded a hell lot of times that he cried in bed. He cried in school, specifically the studio when he remembered that he will no longer enter with you waiting for him. He cried at the parks you used to run together, spend time together, and have holiday picnics together. And he cried at the airport when he sent you off. 

“Do you really have to go?” He whined, tears globby. “I already don’t see you in school!”

You patted his head. “I have to go home, Jimin. Korea is not my home.”

Jimin was beyond despair. 

Jimin was beyond himself with despair. 

“You can still call me. You have my number, silly.” Your heart ached seeing your best friend cry. “Come on, silly. You’re going to make me cry if you keep crying!” You took out your handkerchief you had initially prepared for the day and wiped his tears. 

“Here.” You pressed the now damp handkerchief in his shaking hands. “Return it to me when you see me again.” You held out your pinky and hooked a promise. 

Your flight was being called for entry and you waved from the departure terminal at Jimin where his dad was holding him up.

Your dearest friend for two years. 

You smiled softly as you followed your parents towards the departure gates, heart aching at the goodbye you had left with. 

“Nothing can be helped, I suppose.” Your mother chuckled. “He’s a nice boy.”

You nodded. 

Yes, a very nice boy. 

And you believed in fates. 

Just distance could never part a connection that was made to be.

[kryia-g]

btsaificrecs & chaiibts is the same person. Many people already know that they send private messages asking for money in exchange for deleting their reblogs. Apparently, that’s how they scam.

I see... Thank you for letting me know :))

I'll be sure to be more aware too, I hope that all is well for you 💜💜

[kryia-g]

Love Maze | JJK | Chapter 10

Pair: Hybrid Bunny Hybrid x F Reader 

Summary: Y/N is someone who never planned to adopt a hybrid—until she meets Jungkook, a withdrawn rabbit hybrid feared by everyone at the shelter. She brings him home thinking it’ll be a quiet fresh start, but strange signs soon appear: a scar on his neck, panic around cars, and someone suddenly digging into his records.

When threats begin to surface, Y/N realises Jungkook wasn’t simply abandoned—he was taken, tracked, and never meant to stay free. With no power or connections, she’s forced to fight in the only way she can: by refusing to give him back, and protecting him with everything she has.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: angst, abuse, smut (I'll add on more when I write more!)

Tags: @esposadomd @faelvz @svnk1ssd @toskaesuriennt @somehowukook @fluffysheepmaster @svnbangtansworld @teardoong @wonznme @smoljimjim @ttipa @untitled37315 @forevermoon1306 @juju-227592 @cigdoposex @lovejkmilitarywife @mikrokookiex @luckyruinswonderland

WC: 2399

< Prev. Series mstr. Next >

Spring arrived quietly.

Not with announcements or headlines or breaking news banners, but with the slow softening of air and the return of green along the sidewalks you walked every morning. The city looked the same on the surface—same buildings, same traffic, same rush of people with places to be—but you had learned by now that change rarely announced itself loudly.

Sometimes, it just… stayed.

You and Jungkook moved apartments again three months after the final ruling.

Not because you were chased out this time, not because someone told you it was safer elsewhere—but because Jungkook wanted windows that faced the park.

“I like watching people walk their dogs,” he’d said, almost embarrassed. “It feels… normal.”

So you found a small place near a green strip that cut through the city like a vein of quiet. It had creaky floors, too much light in the afternoons, and neighbours who minded their own business. The building smelled faintly of laundry detergent and old books.

It felt like a place that could hold a future.

The court cases still echoed in the background of your lives—appeals, policy revisions, committees arguing over wording that could decide whether something counted as protection or punishment—but they no longer consumed every hour.

Jungkook testified once more, briefly, for a supplementary hearing.

After that, the requests stopped.

The world had moved on to the next outrage, the next scandal, the next thing to be angry about.

You were grateful.

Healing, you learned, didn’t like an audience.

Some mornings, Jungkook woke up before you and sat by the window, knees drawn to his chest, watching the park wake up. Sometimes he shifted into his rabbit form and sat on the windowsill, ears flicking as joggers passed by below.

Other mornings, he didn’t sleep at all.

On those days, you made tea and didn’t ask questions unless he offered answers.

Therapy continued—slow, uneven, necessary. There were weeks where Jungkook came home lighter, shoulders relaxed, joking about Dr. Seo’s terrible taste in office art. There were weeks where he came home silent, retreating inward like a tide pulling back.

“You don’t have to be okay today,” you often reminded him.

He believed you more now than he used to.

The hybrid protection bill passed in late spring.

Not perfect. Not sweeping. 

Independent oversight. Mandatory trauma-informed evaluations. Legal recognition of hybrid autonomy beyond ownership classifications. The tracker ban alone made headlines—A Win for Hybrid Rights, they called it.

Jungkook read the article twice.

Then closed his phone and sat very still.

“They finally put it in writing,” he said quietly.

You sat beside him on the couch. “Yeah.”

He nodded once. “Good.”

That night, he shifted again—not out of fear or reflex, but choice.

He sat on the living room floor, closed his eyes, and breathed like Dr. Seo had taught him. His body moved with him now, not against him. Fur spread smoothly over skin, bones folding without pain.

A rabbit sat where he had been moments ago.

Smaller than before.

Calmer.

He hopped toward you, hesitated, then climbed carefully into your lap.

You laughed softly, hands cradling him. “You’re getting brave.”

He chirped quietly and nuzzled your wrist.

When he shifted back, his cheeks were flushed but his eyes were bright.

“I didn’t feel like I was disappearing that time,” he said.

Your chest ached in the best way. “I’m proud of you.”

He ducked his head. “I’m still scared.”

“I know.”

“But,” he added, glancing up at you, “I don’t think I’m trapped anymore.”

That summer, you went back to work full-time.

Not because you had to—your legal advocacy had earned you enough quiet offers to coast for a while—but because routine mattered. Because reclaiming the ordinary felt like an act of defiance all its own.

And also, your team needed you back. It was time to put a stop to coffee piling on your work table that should be filled with new cases by now. Sometimes, you laugh at the thought of the state of your office that one time you passed it. 

Jungkook walked you to the train station most mornings.

Sometimes he stayed in human form, hands tucked into the pockets of an oversized jacket. Other days, he shifted into his rabbit form and rode tucked into your bag, peeking out only when the platform was quiet.

You stopped caring what strangers thought.

You cared about whether Jungkook felt safe enough to exist as himself.

One evening, after a long day of depositions and meetings, you came home to find the apartment filled with the smell of something burning.

“Jungkook?” you called, heart jumping.

“In the kitchen!” he shouted back.

You rounded the corner to find him staring at a pan with wild-eyed concentration, wooden spoon clenched like a weapon.

“What’s happening?” you asked carefully.

“I’m trying to cook,” he said. “It’s harder than it looks.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. “What are you making?”

He gestured vaguely at the stove. “Something that was supposed to be pasta.”

You stepped closer, peering into the pan. “I think the water boiled off.”

He groaned. “I knew I missed a step.”

You took the spoon gently from his hand and set the pan aside. “Come here.”

He followed you without argument, leaning against the counter as you worked together to salvage dinner. Your shoulders brushed. His hand rested against yours, tentative but warm.

“I never thought I’d get mad about food like this,” he said suddenly.

You glanced at him. “Mad is allowed.”

He smiled faintly. “I know. It just feels… new.”

After dinner, you sat on the balcony with the windows open, listening to the city settle into night. Jungkook leaned against you, head resting on your shoulder, fingers idly tracing the seam of your sleeve.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Always.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” His voice was quiet. Careful. “Back then. When it got dangerous.”

You thought about it.

About the shelter. The blanket. The moment he’d nudged your hand for pets instead of biting. The way he’d looked at you like you were something fragile and precious when you’d been the one kneeling on the floor.

“Because you weren’t a problem to solve,” you said slowly. “You were a person who needed space to breathe. I never understood that every time the field team tells me, but now I do.”

He swallowed. “And now?”

You turned to face him fully. “Now you’re someone I choose. Every day.”

He stared at you like he was still learning what that meant.

Then he leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against yours.

“I think,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “I want to live. Like… really live.”

Your throat tightened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I don’t know what that looks like yet. But I want to find out.”

You smiled. “We can figure it out together.”

The world didn’t magically fix itself after that. There were still moments where loud noises made Jungkook flinch, where certain smells pulled him backward without warning. 

But there were also mornings filled with sunlight and coffee and laughter over burnt toast.

There were afternoons in the park, Jungkook stretched out on the grass in rabbit form, ears twitching lazily as you read beside him.

There were evenings where you sat on the floor, sorting paperwork for the advocacy network while he listened, asking questions, learning the language of rights and protections that had once been denied to him.

One night, as rain tapped softly against the windows, Jungkook curled up beside you on the couch and said, almost offhandedly, “I think I want to help.”

You looked up. “Help how?”

“Other hybrids,” he said. “The ones who don’t know yet that they weren’t wrong.”

Your heart swelled. “I think you’d be good at that.”

He smiled—small, genuine, unafraid.

“I think so too.”

Autumn arrived the way healing often did—quietly, without ceremony, without asking permission.

The park outside your apartment changed first. Leaves browned and loosened, drifting down in soft spirals that Jungkook liked to watch from the window. He said the falling leaves made him feel less strange about shedding old things.

“Nothing holds forever,” he murmured one afternoon, chin propped on the sill.

You smiled into your coffee. “Some things aren’t supposed to.”

Life found its rhythm.

You went to work. Jungkook volunteered twice a week at the hybrid support centre—a modest building with too many pamphlets and not enough funding, but staffed by people who listened. At first, he only helped with sorting donations. Then he started sitting in on group sessions, quiet, attentive, offering his presence more than his words.

He didn’t introduce himself as a survivor but rather, someone who understood firsthand what it was like. The first time a prey hybrid flinched away from a raised voice in the hallway, Jungkook moved instinctively—stepping closer without crowding, crouching slightly to make himself smaller.

“You’re safe here,” he said softly.

The hybrid looked at him like no one had ever said that before.

Later, Jungkook came home shaken but glowing.

“They listened,” he told you, kicking off his shoes and curling up beside you on the couch. “I didn’t have to explain everything. I didn’t have to prove anything.”

You brushed your thumb over his knuckles. “You never did.”

The follow-ups, compliance checks, policy reviews that felt endless continued in the background and the people who wanted silence had learned they couldn’t afford it anymore.

Some nights, you’d find Jungkook awake at three in the morning, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the lights off, breathing slow and deliberate. You learned not to rush him, not to fill the quiet with reassurance unless he reached for it.

Sometimes, he didn’t.

Sometimes, he did.

One night, you joined him on the floor without a word, back against the couch, shoulder brushing his. You stayed like that until dawn bled pale blue into the sky.

“I used to think being awake meant something bad was coming,” he said quietly. “Now it just means… I’m here.”

You rested your head against his shoulder. “Being here counts.”

He shifted into his rabbit form that morning—not fully asleep, not fully awake—curling against your leg with a soft huff of contentment. You stroked between his ears, careful, familiar, letting the moment exist without analysis.

Healing didn’t erase the past, it teaches one how to carry it. 

The hybrid protection network asked Jungkook to speak at a small closed-door workshop in November. No cameras. No press. Just social workers, policymakers, and a handful of advocates who looked exhausted and determined.

Jungkook stood at the front of the room, hands shaking slightly.

You sat in the back, where he couldn’t see you unless he looked for you.

He did.

Once.

Just to make sure.

“I don’t have answers,” he told them. “I only have experiences. And I know that fear doesn’t make someone dangerous. Silence does.”

Someone in the audience wiped their eyes.

Afterward, Jungkook slumped into a chair like he’d run a marathon.

“I think I overshared,” he muttered.

You crouched in front of him, grinning. “You were honest. That’s different.”

He laughed—a short, surprised sound. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

Winter came early.

Snow dusted the sidewalks and softened the city, muting sounds and slowing everything down. Jungkook loved it. He pressed his palms to the glass and watched flakes tumble like static.

“Do you think rabbits like snow?” he asked seriously.

You considered it. “Probably not their favourite.”

“Hm.” He nodded. “I don’t mind it. It makes everything quieter.”

You bundled up and walked the park together one evening, breath puffing white in the cold. Jungkook shifted halfway through the walk, padding along beside you in rabbit form, leaving small prints in the snow.

You stopped to take a picture.

“For what?” he asked, shifting back with flushed cheeks.

“For us,” you said. “For later.”

He stared at the phone, then at you. “Later feels… like now.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “It does.”

The holidays were strange but gentle.

You didn’t go big. No crowded gatherings, no forced cheer. Just warm lights, simple food, and a tree Jungkook insisted on decorating with handmade ornaments from the support centre’s art group.

“They’re crooked,” he said, hanging one that leaned heavily to the left.

“They’re perfect,” you replied.

On New Year’s Eve, you sat on the floor with takeout containers and watched fireworks bloom silently on a neighbour’s television. Jungkook leaned against you, head on your shoulder, body warm and solid.

“At midnight,” he said, voice thoughtful, “I want to make a promise.”

You glanced at him. “Yeah?”

“I want to promise myself,” he said slowly, “that I won’t disappear again. Even when it’s easier.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s a good promise.”

He hesitated. “And… you?”

You smiled. “I promise to keep choosing you. Not because you need me. Because I want to.”

The fireworks flared brighter.

He just held your hand and stayed.

In the spring that followed, Jungkook enrolled in a part-time course—community advocacy, policy basics, how systems worked and where they broke. He studied at the kitchen table, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration, papers spread everywhere.

You teased him for colour-coding everything.

“It helps,” he said defensively. “My brain likes order now.”

“Now?” you echoed.

He paused. Then smiled. “Yeah. Now.”

One afternoon, you came home to find him asleep on the couch in rabbit form, papers scattered around him like fallen leaves. You covered him with a blanket and sat nearby, listening to the quiet.

You thought about how far you’d come.

From a shelter visit you hadn’t wanted to attend.

From fear and running and broken doors.

From courtrooms and testimonies and nights that felt endless.

This—this ordinary moment—felt like a victory no headline could capture.

Jungkook stirred, blinking awake, ears twitching.

“You’re home,” he said, shifting back with a sleepy smile.

“I am.”

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I had a thought.”

You braced yourself. “Uh-oh.”

He laughed. “Nothing bad. I was thinking… I want to help open a program. Something small. Peer support for prey hybrids. No labels. Just space.”

Your chest filled with warmth. “That sounds like you.”

“You think I can do it?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I know you can.”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek—brief, soft, grounding. Not a promise. Not a declaration. Just affection, freely given.

[kryia-g]

Letters | PJM | Chapter 2

Pair: Manager reader x Idol Hybrid Retriever Jimin

Summary: It started off simple. Get her name, her number, stick with her. Simple right? Not so simple when you end up striking the conversation before he can. So Jimin set a game for himself. 

But then you won his heart, so fast, so sudden, and yet, so abruptly leaving him. Jimin doesn’t want to understand why you never told him you were never from Korea, Jimin understands you wanting to go home. Jimin doesn’t want to go but in the end, Jimin was the one that put distance between the both of you. 

Talk about mixed signals. 

So what happens when Jimin suddenly meets you again after over a decade? 

He no longer wants to lose the game. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: sport trauma, smut

Taglist: @graydolan12 @lovejkmilitarywife @forevermoon1306 @boredhoneybun

WC: 2447

< Prev. Series mstr. Next >

It was tough, wasn't it?  We've been through so much  Rooting around the edges  It creeps, it hurts  But it's my fate

School is interesting. Very, very interesting. 

Studies, external activities, field trips, friends, teachers, everything. 

But mostly, dance. 

A school with a studio that Jimin can use to practice, to perform, to try new things. He loved it. But never would he think that someone loves it more than him. He abided by his schedule: school, dance, eat, homework, sleep, and repeat. In his life, no other co-curricular activities can interest him. Since young, he has bled for dance, sweat for dance, cried for dance. And till today, even with the certificates that don't match the number of medals and trophies that are hidden in his shelf, he never once hated the art. 

So he truly believed that he could never find someone more passionate about this art form than him. 

That is, until he found the only freely used studio in the school, being occupied right after the school bell rang. 

He tiptoed, placing his shoes on the rack before attempting to slither into the studio like a chipmunk that feared he would get caught with a walnut in his mouth. Your music was soft, flowing like the waves as your movements picked up. Each step you made had a meaning. Each element you chose to execute had a story to tell. 

The mix of grace and power, paired with your obvious love for storytelling through your motions was enough to set Jimin in a trance. Song after song, you performed. Your sweat dripped on the floor, your breaths came in sharp pants, but you never broke character. Each song told a different story and you shifted effortlessly between them. 

Jimin stared at you thinking that he had to add one more thing to that list of interest - and that addition was you. 

By the time you hit the ending pose of the third song, Jimin was already warming up. He let himself count - one minute and he is going to ask for your number. 

One minute.

You hadn’t fully known what to do with the boy at the back of the studio staring at you. One thing was for certain, he wants the floor. So you wiped your sweat, cleaned the floors, and had sips of water. Your expectations of him moving directly to the dance floor to practice was thrown into the sea when he approached you, practically bouncing as he walked up to you. 

“Hi!” He waved, stopping short just before you. “I’m Park Jimin. What’s your name?”

His nervousness was obvious on a closer look but it was clear that his curiosity outweighed that. 

“I’m L/N Y/N.” You held out your hand, a handshake offering which he took very seriously. The way he shook your hand was like a principal, stiff and a lot of awkwardness. His actions couldn’t have been more endearing than that. “You dance?”

Jimin’s eyes lit up at the question, head nodding so hard you wondered if he ever got dizzy from his own energy. “I do contemporary. I’ve never seen the moves you did before. It’s so cool!” 

Cool, huh? 

In the rink, what you did was simple, the bare basics, insufficient to win you a medal. There were under-rotated jumps, potentially wrong uses of ages - but this guy… He doesn’t care. Well, for one it was obvious to you he doesn’t know the sport. But the feeling of being praised for something… The attention that you managed to garner from him just one one simple move…

It made your heart hope. 

And hope was dangerous. Because with hope, you would try to get back onto the ice. A place that brought you so much happiness and sorrow that you missed it but… 

You huffed at him. “Really?”

Jimin bounced, like he can’t believe you wouldn’t believe him. “Of course! I can’t spin in the air like that! Would you teach me?” He clasped his hands together. “Please? I promise you show me a simple move and I can get it! I won’t take too much of your practice time!”

This boy…

So eager to please, so eager to learn. 

What memories that brought back. 

You shook my head, laughing. “Some things can’t just be taught like that. This isn’t really a dance move. Of course, genres like breakdancing and stuff have similar moves, the technique for this sport is a little different.” 

“Sport?” Jimin’s slight tilt of head nearly sends you rolling. 

“Yes, sport.” You showed him a simple three-turn entry into a single salchow single loop. “For a one rotation jump, your body is quite literally facing 45 to 90 degrees before the leg lifts from the ground.” You patted your right thigh. “I’m a leftie, so I jump off my right leg and land on my left. Commonly, it’s the opposite but I preferred this. For this jump, my right leg is called the ground leg and my left is called the free leg.”

Jimin’s attention was rapt. For someone to be so interested the first time was not new to you. But the way he stared at you and his unbridled attention to the way you explained the movements made you feel a sense of odd satisfaction. 

“Never do you swing the free leg higher than your hip or you won’t have enough time to bring it down after completing the set number of rotations you want. That goes for all the jumps. The main power energy should come from your arms, core, and well…” You remembered he did contemporary. 

“Plié.” You could see the moment he understood. 

“So it’s like a pirouette in the air?” Jimin questioned. 

“Similiar but you don’t want to keep the free leg out nor arms like they do in ballet. It should have a streamline effect.” 

“Like fish?”

Fish-

You burst out laughing. You wished you had such humor in the rink. 

Never would you have thought that fish was the way to explain to someone the alignment of a jump.

When you looked back at Jimin, he was flushed. “Well, if that works for you, yes. Fish.” You couldn’t hold in your laughter the second time. 

From the tears in your eyes, you saw fluffy ears flattened against his head, tail tucked around his waist. 

You stopped laughing immediately, heading over to him as if entranced. “Fluffy…”

Jimin flinched a little as you approached. 

“Sorry, I won’t touch. I just…” You stared at his ears. “I love fluffy stuff.” You had to force yourself to look away in order to reduce the reddening in his cheeks. At this point, he could be a tomato instead. 

“What hybrid are you?” You sat on the ground, stretching to keep yourself warm. “I mean… you don’t have to tell me. I was just curious. Sorry.”

Jimin shook his head and the way his ears moved with the motion had your fingers itching. God it was fluffy…

“I’m a Retriever.” 

You hummed. “Cute.” 

You really didn’t know what else to say. 

Your fingers were really itching. 

Jimin’s plan failed. 

It has been the umpteenth time that he sighed at the dining table. 

“What are you sighing so much for?” His mother smacked his head. “The first day of school is that bad?”

Jimin whined. “No… It was really good. I met this girl who dances really well too. She taught me a few new tricks but I can’t nail it.”

“Maybe if you ate, you could.” Jimin’s mother chided him, pointing her chopsticks to his near untouched bowl of rice. “Seriously… Don’t forget your homework. Life is not purely about dance.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. This was a conversation that happens almost everyday, so much so that he could predict what his mother would say next based on his responses. “Yeah, I know.” 

Even as he says, he is grateful that his parents were supportive of him and his dreams. They set rules to ensure that he would not neglect his formal education but didn’t cut him off from his training. They ensured he had a safe space to come back to, costumes to perform in, places to practice. Jimin knew that it was expensive and exhausting and he couldn’t have been happier. 

But that also curls around his self-worth that he needed to aim to be perfect to ensure that his parents' efforts were not wasted. 

As Jimin laid in bed, he wondered if he would see you tomorrow. He wondered what class you were in, how old you were, what elective did you choose? 

You were his new topic of interest and he loved making new friends. 

So Jimin’s plan failed. 

But tomorrow he would try again. 

And he did. 

The moment the school bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, he dashed to the studio. But this time, you weren’t in yet. So Jimin entered, playing around with the switches and new environment he would learn to practice in. 

Fifteen minutes past school hours and you haven’t came. 

Jimin started to wonder if he missed his chances. Again. 

Thoughts and thoughts, neither good, somehow bad. So Jimin did what he knew he could do best.

He danced. 

He connected his phone to the main speakers, letting the music flow to him and just… letting loose. It was a freeing feeling to be able to dance, the pure ability to move the way he wanted. The way even his fingertips moved with the music, the stability that he had in his movements. It was ethereal, unbridled, free - 

And he didn’t realise you were staring at him until saw your figure from the mirror. 

The sudden addition made him falter, legs slipping underneath him as he crashed onto the ground. He panicked getting up when he saw you rushing over. It was embarrassing. 

Everything was. 

The improvisation performance. The fall. The fact that you watched it. 

“Jimin, you okay?” You held out a hand to help him up. “Sorry that I didn’t announce myself when I came in but you looked so… focused.”

Jimin flushed, embarrassed. “No… It was nothing… Just a simple dance.”

“Simple?!”

He couldn’t really look you in the eye.

“Jimin, that was far from simple!” You shot up from the squatting position the both of you were in. “The way you moved and commanded the space was amazing. That is far from just simple. You gotta give yourself more credit than that!”

“Erm… Yeah.” Jimin couldn’t bear to tell you that everything he did was never enough. Never enough to win the competitions, never enough for his parents' money to be of use, never enough for his parents to boast about him, and never enough for him. 

“That’s such a mid answer.” You clicked your tongue, defiant. “Nobody can do that on day one. It shows how much effort you put into what you do. You have to be prouder than that!” 

You understood the pressure of performance. You may not know what Jimin went through but it was clear that he performs at the level that not an average dancer would casually do. Through the times that you no longer performed for your sport, you realised that enjoying it was simply enough. Although you were healing from your own scars, you knew a burning flame when you saw one. 

You held Jimin’s shoulders as you made him look you in the eye. 

“You must be proud. Only you know how much effort you put into performing. If there’s something you want, or something that gets you to where you want, take it. Do it.” 

You’ve probably never been more serious than this. 

“Don’t waste time regretting what you did and spend the time finding what you can do instead. Life can throw you pebbles all the time, it’s not fair. But it is even more unfair if you decide to let the opportunity go away just because you are in self-destruction mode.” 

As you struggled to find the right words to encourage Jimin, you remembered something your coach always told you was to “get up and try again”. No matter how many times you fell, got injured, cried, threw a tantrum, she never broke that rule. It was always leaving you to throw a tantrum and then telling you to get up. She never praised you much - simple “good”, “well done”, and perhaps a few more generic terms of encouragement. Nothing more. 

But when you had hit your lowest point, when you were told you could never return competitively to your sport, the only thing she had said to you was “get up and try again”. And at that time, it never felt more supportive. It wasn’t the things she always said or did during training that made the feeling so strong. 

No. It was because of what she had instilled in you since young. The courage to keep trying is the strongest support. 

So. 

“Get up and try again.” You told Jimin. “Do it. I don’t know what you went through, I don’t know how it affected you, and I really don’t know many things. But I am certain you will succeed in your own way as long as you keep trying, no matter what comes your way.”

After that day, the both of you were stuck to each other like glue. 

You learnt that Jimin was a competitive dancer as he learnt that you used to be a competitive skater. 

The big things that made up each of your characters and behaviours. 

And the little things too. 

Like how Jimin observes that you would tap your feet twice after wearing your shoes, or how you would skip in jeté, or how you had the tendency to eat a really big mouth of food and have some at the side of your lips. 

On the other hand, you learnt that Jimin, despite being a hybrid Retriever himself, has a family dog named Byeol. You had so many questions on how that worked, that he had to stop you from asking after the twentieth question. Jimin loves apples and anything crunchy, something which you found quite hilarious. 

The joke between the both of you came to “do you need a chew?” every time he got stressed and started eating apples. 

It was like days flew past when the both of you spent time together - after school hours, dancing, eating, holidays. 

Slowly, the connection between the both of you grew more than just friends. 

Almost as if…

“You’re almost like a little brother to me.”

Jimin’s heart stuttered. 

“And you’re like a sister to me too.”

[kryia-g]

JJK Reaction | Snippit

“Why would you do this…?” Jungkook whined. 

You could help it then - his whine, so soft, sounding like looking at So Jin was a pain. You let out a squeaky laughter, biting your lip hard to try and keep yourself composed. 

“It’s funny, is it not?” You forced out, tears welling up behind your lids. 

“No!” Jungkook’s bunny ears popped out then, standing straight up in disbelief. So Jin, seeing her father’s ears, got distracted from her cold teething toy. “My baby… What did my baby do to you?” He groaned out, sitting beside you on the sofa. “Look at her! So cute, how could you draw such… things!” 

He sobbed, lips jutting out in a pout. 

“Jungkook-ah, it’s just make-up.” 

“I know! She’s too young!” He adjusted her, took a look at her again and groaned. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry harder. It’s so diabolical! You could have at least drawn them better…”

Hope you guys will enjoy it! This is linked to LM's JK and will have the full version posted here at a later date once all the reblogs are out :))) The full version is now out on Patreon!

[kryia-g]

Letters | PJM | Chapter 1

Pair: Manager reader x Idol Hybrid Retriever Jimin

Summary: It started off simple. Get her name, her number, stick with her. Simple right? Not so simple when you end up striking the conversation before he can. So Jimin set a game for himself. 

But then you won his heart, so fast, so sudden, and yet, so abruptly leaving him. Jimin doesn’t want to understand why you never told him you were never from Korea, Jimin understands you wanting to go home. Jimin doesn’t want to go but in the end, Jimin was the one that put distance between the both of you. 

Talk about mixed signals. 

So what happens when Jimin suddenly meets you again after over a decade? 

He no longer wants to lose the game. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: sport trauma, smut

A/N: In this fic, it is more similar to Namjoon’s Wildflower. Hybrids and humans coexist that it is normal. There are no drastic differences in their laws and rights. 

Taglist: @graydolan12 @lovejkmilitarywife @forevermoon1306 @boredhoneybun

WC: 1080

Series mstr. Next >

Loneliness haunts the edges of life  This garden bloomed  Full of flowers  But one, a lifeless flower  Broken thorns and dull shades

Every step, every breath, everything you did was for this moment. 

This 2 minute 40 seconds moment. 

This 4 minute moment. 

Your breath was sharp in my lungs, the temperature in the rink was colder than your home rink. 

It hurts. 

Each jump, each spin, each movement you did made your legs feel as if they were heavier than before. But the ice is unforgiving to those who give up. 

Don’t even think about it. Throw your brain out. 

Jump, jump! 

Training and muscle memory comes back when you need it most… And so do your coach’s corrections, as much as it was annoying. 

The program ended with a flourish - A clean skate with elements unreal of a junior skater. The pressure of the world, the coaches, and oneself becomes heavier. Bowing to the judges and audience, you skated towards the barriers, providing the next skater encouragement through panted breaths. 

“Davai.”

Stepping off the ice, you grabbed your skate guards from your coach, sliding them onto your blades. Your steps were knowing, eyes scanning the arena as the judges made the final call for your points. But you knew that in this current group, no one surpassed you. And the last skater preparing on the ice now would not either. 

Catching your breath at the kiss and cry, you took a tissue from your coach and blew your nose quickly shrugging on your jacket. The results came out to be 154.10. The arena was in an uproar and you could tell that the skater on the ice was nervous. 

Everybody wants the podium but only the most ruthless ones will get the gold. You held your head high as you waved to the cameras, thanking your fans and supporters. 

The competition was over quickly after your skate, congratulations and medal ceremony passing in a jiffy. Flying back home was something you neither loved nor dread. Examination seasons were on and so were competitions. 

Sighing, you closed your eyes, letting yourself fall asleep. 

Perhaps if sleep never left, this would have continued to be a beautiful dream. 

Again. Again. And again. 

All the time, blood, sweat, effort, and tears and still behind. 

Jimin laid down starfish-style and panted on the studio floor, sweat dripping down. If one could say, it would be an ocean soon.  

Never enough. 

Jimin got up on shaky legs, positioning himself as he looked at the mirror. 

Ready. Go. Turn. Scoop the leg up.

The pirouette only had seven rotations before Jimin lost his axis, slipping off and landed ungracefully. Frustrated, he sat on the ground and curled up in a corner as his brain worked - thinking of ways to improve, what went wrong, where went wrong. 

But yet, every time he got up and tried again, it didn't stick. Every element doesn’t stick. Everything he did seems like it was just getting worse the more he worked on it and he’s annoyed. 

The emotions and the pressure rushes in. The criticism crashes in stormy waves. 

And suddenly, nothing he does is ever good enough.

Hospital lights shone down onto you. As you frowned and shifted in the bed, blinding pain shot up your legs, making you gasp for air. 

It hurts. It hurts so bad. 

What happened?

The rounds of doctors came in, assessed me, informed me of everything you wanted and needed to know. 

But the one thing you did not understand was why you could not skate again. 

Skating is your life. Everything you gave was for skating. All the missing experiences you were fine to sacrifice more and more and more, as long as you could skate. As long as you were on the podium. Young, but at that age, you could not see yourself doing anything else… than to skate. 

“Why?” Tears streaked down your cheek as you asked hoarsely. “I can do rehabs, I’ve gotten injuries before so why? Why can’t I go back?” 

The lines of rationality and dreams blurred. 

“Your kneecap is shattered, Y/N.” A female doctor held your hand by your bedside as she explained with a soft voice. “This is not something that can put your body under more stress. You can’t compete on such a level anymore.” 

Jimin holed up in his room. The only things he did was eat, go to school, practice, and go home. The cycle repeats, again and again and again. 

Yet, nothing changed. Nothing is improving. Nothing is worthy.

They used to call him the genius dancer - the dancer that is always graceful in his movements no matter the genre, flawless charisma, flawless execution. 

He feels unworthy of such high praises now. 

If only, those people would see him in the studio. 

Everyday he turns up to school, he remains smiling. He is happy his friends still play with him, happy that he still has a family that is supportive of him, happy that he gets to dance. 

But slowly, Jimin feels lost. 

Is it really that he is happy to dance or is it just a mere talent that he strived to be praised for? 

Sweating on the dance floor, Jimin contemplated. 

What even did he dance for? 

The middle school annual dance competition finally arrived. Jimin performed flawlessly - at least to what the judges may think. Those little mistakes, he crafted it into the choreography to ensure loss of points will not be as high. 

Exhausted. 

The feeling gripped onto his bones, muscles, and breath as Jimin moved through his program with much difficulty this time. The lack of sleep and constant overthinking has gotten to him. He knows, but this competition can prove himself and others wrong. 

Right?

Jimin coursed through the air, emotions from his toes to his fingertips. 

Right?

Jimin finished his program with flawless floorwork. 

Right? 

Jimin panted as he bowed to the judges, getting off the stage. There were still many competitors after him. He has some time to cool down before the award ceremony. Jimin did his best.

No.

Yet another competition that placed fourth. Just shy of a few points, not enough. Jimin gritted his teeth as he accepted the certificate from the judges with the runner-up prize. 

Never enough. 

Hysterical was about the correct word to use. Hysterical and absolute mind-shredding pain. 

Words never left neither of your mouths for months afterwards. 

[kryia-g]

Love Maze | JJK | Chapter 9

Pair: Hybrid Bunny Hybrid x F Reader 

Summary: Y/N is someone who never planned to adopt a hybrid—until she meets Jungkook, a withdrawn rabbit hybrid feared by everyone at the shelter. She brings him home thinking it’ll be a quiet fresh start, but strange signs soon appear: a scar on his neck, panic around cars, and someone suddenly digging into his records.

When threats begin to surface, Y/N realises Jungkook wasn’t simply abandoned—he was taken, tracked, and never meant to stay free. With no power or connections, she’s forced to fight in the only way she can: by refusing to give him back, and protecting him with everything she has.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: angst, abuse, smut (I'll add on more when I write more!)

Tags: @esposadomd @faelvz @svnk1ssd @toskaesuriennt @somehowukook @fluffysheepmaster @svnbangtansworld @teardoong @wonznme @smoljimjim @ttipa @untitled37315 @forevermoon1306 @juju-227592 @cigdoposex @lovejkmilitarywife

WC: 2299

< Prev. Series mstr. Next > 

Something was about to fracture with truth, irreversible and angry. Very, very angry. 

The van rattled through back roads until concrete gave way to steel gates and an underground facility that looked like nothing more than a utility depot. Haneul didn’t slow until the doors sealed behind you, the sound echoing like a final breath being held.

Only then did she cut the engine.

You slid down the bench seat, adrenaline draining fast enough to leave your hands numb. Jungkook stayed close, crouched in front of you, eyes scanning your face with frantic precision.

“Let me see,” he said, voice shaking.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though your shoulder throbbed and your limbs felt like they’d been rung out. “It looks worse than it is.”

He didn’t believe you—and honestly, neither did you—but he nodded anyway, because right now belief wasn’t the point.

The room beyond the garage doors buzzed with activity.

Screens glowed with live feeds. Phones rang. People moved fast but not chaotically—this wasn’t panic. It was preparation.

Haneul turned to face you fully. Her expression had hardened into something steely, resolute.

“They made a move,” she said. “Which means we do too. No more delays.”

Your heart hammered. “Is the data ready?”

She nodded once. “Minjae finished decrypting the final archive an hour ago. We have internal logs, biometric data, proof of illegal experimentation, and evidence of enforced silence through reclassification.”

Jungkook stiffened. “My file?”

“Yes,” Haneul said gently. “Your real file.”

You reached for Jungkook’s hand. He squeezed back, grounding himself through the contact.

“And the tracker?” you asked.

Haneul hesitated. “Still active. But we’ve masked it. They can see you’re alive—but not where.”

Jungkook exhaled shakily. “So they’ll keep coming.”

“Not if we hit first.”

The plan unfolded quickly after that.

The data would go public—but not all at once. It would be released in controlled waves to prevent suppression, mirrored across independent servers, backed by whistleblower protections already in motion.

You’d prepared statements. Medical experts. Legal filings.

And Jungkook—

Jungkook would decide how visible he wanted to be.

No one pushed him.

The choice was his.

He stood quietly while the others moved around him, eyes fixed on a blank screen as if he could already see what would be projected there.

“If I talk,” he said slowly, “they’ll hear my voice.”

“Yes,” Haneul said. “They’ll hear you as a survivor. Not a case file.”

He swallowed. “They used to say… if anyone ever listened to me, it meant I’d failed.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “Then let this be the best failure they ever made.”

Something fragile but fierce lit behind his eyes.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll speak.”

The broadcast went live at 21:00.

You watched from behind the cameras, heart in your throat as Jungkook sat under soft lights, posture careful but not caged. No restraints. No handlers hovering just out of frame.

Just him.

His hands trembled once before he folded them together.

“My name is Jungkook,” he began.

The room went silent.

“I was registered as a prey-class hybrid under Project Springlock. I was told I was aggressive. Unstable. Dangerous.”

He paused, breathing through the moment.

“I wasn’t dangerous,” he continued. “I was afraid. They conditioned fear into my body and called it behaviour. They punished autonomy and called it safety. And when I learned to survive anyway, they marked me as a liability.”

The feed split, evidence appearing beside him—charts, logs, footage stripped of faces but heavy with implication.

“I’m not the only one,” Jungkook said. “There are others who never made it out. Others who don’t know they were wronged because they were taught not to trust their own memories.”

He looked straight into the camera then.

“If you’re watching this and you feel broken because of what they did to you,” he said, voice steady now, “you’re not broken. They are.”

The silence after was deafening.

Your phone lit up with alerts. Social feeds exploded. News channels cut in mid-programming. Regulators scrambled. Names began trending faster than anyone could delete them.

And then came the retaliation.

The first strike was digital.

Servers attempted to wipe mirrored files. Failed.

Then legal.

Cease-and-desist orders filed en masse. Countered within minutes.

Then physical.

The alarms screamed.

“Movement on the lower level!” someone shouted.

Haneul swore. “They’re here.”

Jungkook looked at you, fear flashing—but not breaking him.

“You ready?” you asked quietly.

He nodded. “With you.”

The underground corridors filled with shouts and gunfire as the building went into lockdown. This wasn’t a snatch-and-grab anymore.

This was containment.

You ran together, ducking through reinforced doors as security teams intercepted intruders. Somewhere behind you, a heavy explosion shook the walls.

“They’re trying to destroy the backups!” Haneul yelled into her comm.

“They’re already offsite!” someone shouted back.

Jungkook stumbled once as the ground rocked beneath you.

You grabbed him without thinking. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” he said, breathless.

At the final checkpoint, everything slowed.

A man stepped out of the shadows.

Unmasked.

Calm.

The same man from the facility.

“You really think this ends it?” he asked, voice echoing faintly. “Systems adapt.”

Jungkook stood straighter.

“No,” he said quietly. “People remember. Especially when you tell them the truth.”

The man raised his weapon.

You moved without thought.

Security surged. Shouts. A scuffle.

And then—

Silence.

The man was restrained, face finally cracking as cameras turned toward him instead.

Haneul exhaled shakily. “It’s done.”

Not everything.

But enough.

The aftermath took weeks.

Hearings. Arrests. Programs dismantled. Others exposed.

You testified.

Your team was foaming at the mouth when they saw the both of you. Tables and tables of documents spilled in the office. Your table was basically just made of empty cups of coffee they drank. 

Jungkook testified.

Sometimes together. Sometimes apart.

It wasn’t easy. It hurt. Some nights he still woke up shaking, and some mornings you still checked over your shoulder.

But no one came for him again.

One evening, long after the headlines faded, you sat together on the balcony of a small apartment that finally felt like home.

The city lights were softer here.

“You stayed,” Jungkook said quietly.

You smiled. “I told you I would.”

He turned to you, eyes warm, steady. “I don’t know what comes next.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “Neither do I.”

After a pause, you added softly, “But I know we’ll choose it.”

He smiled then—small, genuine, free.

And for the first time since the shelter, since the fear, since the chase—

Jungkook wasn’t running.

Courtrooms never smelled this way to you.

It used to smell like bleach and polished wood and authority. Now, it just smells like recycled air that has heard too many truths and seen too much. 

Jungkook sat beside you at the long table, shoulders squared but tense, fingers curled into the hem of his sweater like he needed something solid to hold onto. He was in human form today by choice, though you knew the decision had cost him sleep.

You didn’t let go of his hand.

Across the room, people shuffled in and out: lawyers in tailored suits, journalists with pens poised like weapons, observers from hybrid advocacy groups who looked like they were afraid to breathe too loudly and disrupt the fragile sense of order.

The judge entered.

“Case LK107-C,” the judge announced. “Jungkook Jeon versus the Hybrid Regulation Authority and affiliated private contractors.”

Your chest tightened.

This wasn’t the first hearing.

But it was the first one where Jungkook would speak again.

The defence tried to bury him in procedure.

They argued jurisdiction. Oversight. Emergency authorisations. They framed Springlock as “experimental welfare intervention,” a phrase that made your jaw ache from clenching.

When Jungkook was called to the stand, the room stilled.

You felt it in the way the air shifted, the way even the reporters stopped whispering.

He stood slowly.

You squeezed his hand once before letting go.

He didn’t look at the gallery. Didn’t look at the men who had once owned his fear.

He looked straight ahead.

“My name is Jeon Jungkook,” he said clearly. “I am a registered rabbit hybrid and a former subject of Project Springlock.”

The defence attorney rose. “Objection—irrelevant classification.”

The judge didn’t even look up. “Overruled.”

Jungkook inhaled shakily.

“I was subjected to behavioural conditioning designed to suppress autonomy,” he continued. “This included sensory deprivation, pain response training, and the implantation of a biometric tracker linked to my stress levels.”

A murmur rippled through the courtroom.

“When I panicked,” Jungkook said quietly, “the device punished me.”

You swallowed hard.

“They told me it was for my safety,” he went on. “They told me fear meant I was dangerous. That compliance was kindness.”

His voice wavered for half a second—then steadied.

“I believed them. Because believing them hurt less than believing I deserved what they did.”

Silence.

Heavy. Absolute.

The judge leaned forward.

“And when did you stop believing them?”

Jungkook paused.

Then, softly, “When someone treated me like a person without asking for anything in return.”

Your breath caught.

The defence attorney tried again, voice sharper now. “You’re claiming emotional harm. Can you provide evidence of—”

“I can show you scars,” Jungkook said calmly. “I can show you medical records. I can show you my file, where they labelled me ‘uncooperative’ for crying.”

The attorney faltered.

“And if that isn’t enough,” Jungkook added, eyes lifting for the first time to meet the room, “I can show you what fear looks like when it learns how to fight back.”

The judge banged the gavel, eyes tense, looking like he hasn’t slept this week. “That will be sufficient.”

The ruling didn’t come that day.

But the momentum did.

Outside the courthouse, cameras flashed like lightning and you shielded Jungkook instinctively, guiding him through the crowd as questions were shouted from every direction.

“Do you forgive them?”

“Is this about money?”

“Are there others like you?”

Jungkook flinched.

You stepped forward before he could answer.

“This is about accountability,” you said firmly. “And about making sure this never happens again.”

Someone shouted your name.

You ignored them.

The settlements came in waves.

The first was financial—compensation for medical neglect, unlawful detention, and psychological harm. The number made your stomach turn. No amount of money could buy back years of fear.

Jungkook stared at the figure in silence.

“It feels wrong,” he said later that night, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Like they’re trying to pay me to stop hurting.”

You sat beside him. “You don’t owe them your healing.”

The second settlement was structural.

The Hybrid Regulation Authority was forced into federal oversight. Private contractors named in the case were dissolved. Licenses revoked. Assets frozen.

Springlock was officially—and permanently—shut down.

Advocacy groups moved fast.

Emergency legislation was drafted:

– Mandatory consent audits for all hybrid programs

– Independent psychological advocates for prey-class hybrids

– Immediate bans on pain-linked behavioural trackers

The words looked clean on paper.

Living with the aftermath wasn’t.

Some nights, Jungkook woke gasping, hands clawing at sheets like they were restraints. Sometimes he shifted halfway in his sleep, ears flicking violently before he forced himself back.

You learned to wake slowly.

To speak softly.

To anchor him with your voice before touch.

“I’m here,” you’d murmur. “You’re safe. It’s just us.”

Some nights, he believed you.

Others, he cried.

Therapy started two weeks after the first ruling.

He hated the waiting room—the sterile smell, the ticking clock—but Dr. Seo was patient. Quiet. She never asked him to relive anything unless he offered first.

On the fourth session, Jungkook said, “I don’t know who I am when I’m not afraid.”

Dr. Seo nodded. “That’s not unusual.”

“It feels… empty,” he admitted.

You waited outside that day, staring at a potted plant you suspected was plastic, fingers twisting together.

When he emerged, his eyes were red—but clearer.

“She says fear shaped me,” he told you as you walked home. “But it doesn’t have to define me.”

You smiled faintly. “She sounds smart.”

He huffed. “She charged a fortune.”

You laughed—real laughter, surprised and bright.

That night, Jungkook shifted deliberately.

Not in panic.

Not in response to noise or threat.

He sat cross-legged on the rug, closed his eyes, and breathed.

You watched, heart in your throat, as fur rippled gently over his skin—not violently this time, not fractured or forced. His body folded inward, smooth and controlled, until a small white rabbit sat where he’d been.

He blinked up at you.

Then hopped once.

Carefully.

You covered your mouth, tears springing to your eyes. “You did it.”

He shifted back moments later, breathless but smiling.

“I wanted to see if I could,” he said. “Without it hurting.”

You pulled him into a hug without thinking.

He froze—then relaxed into it, arms wrapping around you.

The world was still messy. Appeals were filed. Counter-suits threatened. Some people still called him dangerous in comment sections and headlines.

But healing took a small, stubborn root.

You cooked together. He learned how to exist without waiting for permission. You learned how to let him go quiet without assuming it meant danger.

Some nights, he still checked the door locks three times.

Some mornings, you still woke before him just to make sure he was breathing.

But there were moments—soft and ordinary—where the past loosened its grip.

One evening, as you sat on the couch with his head resting against your shoulder, Jungkook spoke quietly.

“Do you think I’ll ever stop being scared?”

You thought about it.

Then you said, honestly, “I think one day, fear won’t be the loudest thing in the room.”

He considered that and for the first time since the courtroom doors had closed behind the both of you, the future didn’t feel like something you had to outrun.

[2nd-massachusetts]

*gently takes your face in my hands* hey. remember that fandom is for fun. if you're not having fun it is ok to step back. if you're intentionally making it unfun for others it is ok to step back. none of this is real. go sit in the sun and smell a flower. i love you.

[kryia-g]

Okayyy........

Uhhhh, hi everyone.

Usually I don't come back this quickly after a chat session, but I wanted to give you guys a little update.

Firstly - I am finnnnneee. I promise.

Emotionally and mentally, I'm doing a lot better than I was before, and I'm incredibly thankful for everyone who reached out. Thank you for letting me disappear for a while without making me feel guilty for it.

Secondly... today's post is a little different.

I want to share something that happened to me recently. This will touch on workplace toxicity, mental health, and emotional wellbeing. If those are topics you're not comfortable reading about, please feel free to scroll past. That's completely okay.

I also ask that we keep this space kind. I know some people believe these topics shouldn't be shared publicly, but I disagree.

Sometimes awareness begins with someone simply saying, "This happened to me."

And today, that's what I'm doing.

Uh... before we get into the heavier stuff... A happier update!

Whatever happened, it also means I finally have a little more time to write again. (For now at least. Unfortunately, bills still exist. Thank goodness for freelance work and side incomes.)

Taehyung's Slow Dancing series will begin publishing on Patreon in August, and Jimin's Letter series is fully available there already.

I'm also planning to finally schedule the promised Tumblr one-shots and work on Patreon-exclusive stories.

And I've somehow become completely obsessed with cooking.

I've practically filled an entire sketchbook drawing the meals I've been making recently (don't ask me how we got here because I genuinely don't know either). I'm thinking about turning them into digital recipe pages to share with you guys.

Would anyone actually be interested in that? Let me know in the comments! 

And if you'd like to support my writing, you can also check out my Patreon here!

Okay.

Now for the reason I wanted to write this.

Workplace toxicity can take many forms - sometimes it isn't shouting, sometimes it isn't impossible workloads, and sometimes words that hurt the most come from the people closest to where you work.

It can come from different people - Family businesses, friends working together, long-time mentors - basically, people you trusted.

I'm not saying these things never work. As someone who wants to build things myself, I know they absolutely can.

But I hope you'll always remember one thing: Please don't forget to prioritise yourself.

Because people change - sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse, and sometimes they don't even realise they've changed.

We all grow differently because we've all live different lives. Our experiences shape us, our perspectives shape us, and no relationship stays exactly the same forever. Therefore, choosing who you work with - and who you work for - is a much bigger decision than I think most of us realise.

Sometimes you join a company expecting one thing and receive another or other times you return because you remember how good it used to be.

That was me.

I came back thinking I was returning to something familiar.

But instead, I found something completely different. One sentence echoed through almost every conversation I had with my colleagues.

"She wasn't like this before."

From the outside, maybe it sounds like we're simply placing blame on one person and because opinions are subjective - maybe we were, maybe we weren't.

But I'm not here to decide that, neither do i require any of you to decide that. 

What I can tell you is what it felt like to live through it.

I went to work every day afraid of being scolded.

Work? Get scolded.

Don't work? Well... obviously you'll get scolded. (That one's kind of a "duh", right? HAHA.)

Work hard but not up to someone's standards? Get scolded.

Offer ideas? Rejected.

Stop offering ideas? Suddenly you lack initiative.

Make a mistake? Get scolded without being told how to improve.

Ask a question? Either get scolded, get another question thrown back at you, or get no answer at all.

Don't ask? Get scolded anyway.

And after a while... You stop asking. You stop thinking. You stop being curious. And that's the part that scared me the most.

Because I wasn't like that.

When I first joined, that workplace gave me structure - It taught me skills I genuinely needed, it gave me experience, and it built part of the foundation I stand on today.

I'm grateful for that.

But somewhere along the way... I grew older and understood myself better... I realised I also needed collaboration. 

I needed to be heard, I needed to feel like my voice mattered, and without those things, I slowly lost myself. Looking back now, I know there were still opportunities to grow - There were skills I could have learnt, experiences worth having.

But at the time?

I couldn't see any of them.

Not because they weren't there but because I was exhausted.

When your mind spends every day trying to survive, it doesn't have much room left to stay curious nor excited.

Or hopeful.

Or even like yourself.

People may tell you, "But it's good for your portfolio.", "But it's valuable work experience.", "But everyone has to tough it out."

They're right - Sometimes staying is the right decision.

Again, I'm not here to tell you what to do. I'm certainly in no position to tell you to quit your job. I'm here to remind you that your body has limits, your mind has limits, your heart has limits. And when all three are begging you to listen...

Please.

Listen.

There are a thousand reasons to stay - Good pay, great colleagues, a stable career, benefits, years you've already invested in it.

I understand all of them (been there, thought that.

But I hope you'll ask yourself one question - Not once or twice, maybe like five times, ten times: Are you happy?

The first answer is usually the easy one so keep asking:

Am I actually happy?

Is this how I want to spend my mornings?

Is this the version of myself I want to become?

Is surviving the same thing as living?

These are the answers I don't have for you. Only you do.

This post isn't meant to convince anyone to leave their job. It's simply a gentle reminder - for those who are struggling now, or those who may one day find themselves in a place like I did.

Please remember that you are so much more than your work. Your job is something you do. It is not who you are.

You are made up of your memories - Your laughter, the people you love, the stories you tell, the dreams you haven't reached yet.

Please, don't let one place convince you that you're only worth the work you produce. And if you ever find yourself choosing between protecting your wellbeing and proving yourself to someone else...

I hope you'll choose yourself becuase choosing yourself isn't failure. At times, it's the bravest decision you'll ever make.

If any of you are going through something similar, I hope this made you feel a little less alone. And if you're not ready to talk about it yet...

That's okay too.

When you are ready, I hope you know there will always be someone willing to listen - Your friends, family, community, even me. So... Please be kind to yourself.

Love yourself, take care of yourself.

And if today is difficult...

I hope tomorrow is a little gentler.

💜

[kryia-g]

Letters | PJM | Teaser 2

Teaser 2 let's gooooo

School is interesting. Very, very interesting. 

Studies, external activities, field trips, friends, teachers, everything. 

But mostly, dance. 

A school with a studio that Jimin can use to practice, to perform, to try new things. He loved it. But never would he think that someone loves it more than him. He abided by his schedule: school, dance, eat, homework, sleep, and repeat. In his life, no other co-curricular activities can interest him. Since young, he has bled for dance, sweat for dance, cried for dance. And till today, even with the certificates that don't match the number of medals and trophies that are hidden in his shelf, he never once hated the art. 

So he truly believed that he could never find someone more passionate about this art form than him. 

That is, until he found the only freely used studio in the school, being occupied right after the school bell rang. 

He tiptoed, placing his shoes on the rack before attempting to slither into the studio like a chipmunk that feared he would get caught with a walnut in his mouth. Your music was soft, flowing like the waves as your movements picked up. Each step you made had a meaning. Each element you chose to execute had a story to tell. 

The mix of grace and power, paired with your obvious love for storytelling through your motions was enough to set Jimin in a trance. Song after song, you performed. Your sweat dripped on the floor, your breaths came in sharp pants, but you never broke character. Each song told a different story and you shifted effortlessly between them. 

Jimin stared at you thinking that he had to add one more thing to that list of interest - and that addition was you. 

By the time you hit the ending pose of the third song, Jimin was already warming up. He let himself count - one minute and he is going to ask for your number. 

One minute.

[kryia-g]

Love Maze | JJK | Chapter 8

Pair: Hybrid Bunny Hybrid x F Reader 

Summary: Y/N is someone who never planned to adopt a hybrid—until she meets Jungkook, a withdrawn rabbit hybrid feared by everyone at the shelter. She brings him home thinking it’ll be a quiet fresh start, but strange signs soon appear: a scar on his neck, panic around cars, and someone suddenly digging into his records.

When threats begin to surface, Y/N realises Jungkook wasn’t simply abandoned—he was taken, tracked, and never meant to stay free. With no power or connections, she’s forced to fight in the only way she can: by refusing to give him back, and protecting him with everything she has.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: angst, abuse, smut (I'll add on more when I write more!)

Tags: @esposadomd @faelvz @svnk1ssd @toskaesuriennt @somehowukook @fluffysheepmaster @svnbangtansworld @teardoong @wonznme @smoljimjim @ttipa @untitled37315 @forevermoon1306

WC: 4133

< Prev. Series mstr. Next >

The silence rang in your ears, sharp and waiting.

Dr. Min didn’t answer immediately. On the other end of the line, you could hear faint movement, muffled voices, the hum of systems rerouting. Whatever you had just stepped into, it was already in motion.

“Alright,” she said finally. Her voice was different now—less cautious, more focused. “If you’re stepping up, then we do this properly.”

You tightened your grip around Jungkook, who was still pressed to your chest in rabbit form, shaking faintly from the adrenaline crash. His ears twitched at the sound of her voice, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’m listening,” you said.

“First,” Dr. Min continued, “you need to get off the street. I’m sending you a location—temporary, legally it is registered under the Association but it’s hidden under encrypted files. You’ll have one hour before anyone even suspects you.”

Your phone buzzed with an incoming pin.

“Second,” she said, “you stop thinking like someone who stumbled into this by accident.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t.”

“I know,” she replied. “That’s why you’re dangerous to them.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t feel dangerous.”

“You don’t have to,” Dr. Min said calmly. “You just have to be stubborn enough not to give him back.”

You looked down at Jungkook.

He lifted his head slightly, dark eyes meeting yours, searching your face like he was checking whether the ground beneath him was still solid.

“I can do stubborn,” you said quietly.

“Good,” Dr. Min replied. “Because what comes next is pressure from them at all sides. The field team is already working their way.”

The call ended before you could ask more.

You stayed crouched behind the dumpster for a few seconds longer, listening—waiting for footsteps, for shouts, for anything that would signal you’d been followed.

Nothing.

“Okay,” you murmured, shifting Jungkook’s rabbit form carefully in your arms. “We’re moving again.”

He made a small sound—uncertain, but not resisting.

You wrapped him tighter in the blanket and forced yourself to stand, legs wobbling from the sudden effort. The location Dr. Min sent wasn’t far, but every step felt like you were walking through glass.

You kept to side streets, ducked under flickering streetlights, and checked reflections in windows like you’d seen characters do in movies—except this wasn’t scripted, and you couldn’t afford to miss anything.

When you finally reached the building, it looked forgettable in the best way possible. Old. Slightly rundown. The kind of place people passed every day without noticing.

You slipped inside and climbed the stairs instead of taking the lift, heart pounding with each creak of concrete. The door to the unit Dr. Min had sent opened with a keyless code.

Inside was dim and sparse. A couch. A small table. One bedroom. No decorations. No personality.

Safe.

You locked the door behind you and sagged against it, knees nearly giving out.

Jungkook shifted, then slowly wriggled free from the blanket, hopping down to the floor. He didn’t run this time. He didn’t hide.

Instead, he sat there, small and trembling, watching you with wide eyes.

“We’re okay,” you said, though your voice shook. “Just for tonight.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then, to your surprise, he shifted.

The air changed again—gentler this time, less violent than before. You watched, frozen, as his rabbit form gave way to human once more, movements awkward but controlled. He ended up sitting on the floor, wrapped hastily in the blanket you threw over him, shoulders hunched.

He looked… exhausted.

“I didn’t mean to do that again,” he said quietly, voice hoarse. “I just—when I saw him—”

“I know,” you said, dropping down in front of him. “You don’t have to explain.”

He hesitated. “You’re not scared of me?”

The question cut deeper than you expected.

You shook your head. “I’m scared for you.”

He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he wasn’t used to having them. “They used to say… prey hybrids shouldn’t shift unless ordered.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“No one gets to order you anymore,” you said firmly. “Not them. Not anyone.”

He looked up at you, something fragile and hopeful flickering across his face.

“Even if I cause trouble?” he asked.

You let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. “Jungkook, trouble found us. You’re just trying to survive it.”

For a moment, he looked like he might cry.

Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against your shoulder, tentative but desperate. You froze for half a second—then wrapped your arms around him, holding him carefully, grounding both of you.

You stayed like that longer than you meant to.

Eventually, your phone buzzed again.

A new message—this time from an unfamiliar contact name Dr. Min must have added.

Unknown (Secure):This is Park Haneul, Hybrid Advocacy Network. Dr. Min looped me in.

Your stomach twisted. “Another organisation?” you muttered.

Jungkook tensed slightly at your tone.

“It’s okay,” you murmured to him, then typed back.

Y/N:I’m here.

The reply came quickly.

Haneul:We’ve confirmed movement from the same group that breached the safehouse. They’re operating under a shell company again—new name, same methods.

Your chest tightened. Again.

Y/N:What do they want with Jungkook?

You were certain she knew what you were asking. It wasn’t ‘what’ but why him?

There was a pause.

Then:

Haneul:He’s not just a tracker case. He’s part of a discontinued project.

Your breath caught.

You glanced at Jungkook, who was watching your face closely, clearly picking up on the shift.

Y/N:LK107-C? My team is handling that case. We haven’t gotten deep into it. 

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Then:

Haneul:They have now. The recent leak chasing Subject 22, 68, and 107 showcases behavioural compliance trials on prey hybrids. Conditioning, memory suppression, forced obedience responses.

Your hands went cold.

Jungkook swallowed. “What is it?”

You didn’t want to tell him like this. Not all at once. Not when he was already stretched thin.

“They did experiments,” you said carefully. “On hybrids like you.”

His shoulders tensed. “I know.”

The quiet certainty in his voice made you look at him sharply.

“You know?” you asked.

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t always forget. Sometimes… things come back. Sounds. Smells. Commands.”

Anger flared hot in your chest.

“They’re looking for you because you’re proof,” you said. “That it happened. That they didn’t just shut down.”

He looked at you, eyes dark. “So I’m… evidence.”

The word tasted bitter.

“You’re a person,” you said immediately. “They just don’t want the world to see that.”

Your phone buzzed again.

Haneul:If this goes public, they’re finished. That’s why they’re escalating.

You stared at the screen.

Public.

Exposure.

Yes… Of course. But you also knew that purely human evidence is insufficient to stand trial. And right now, you don’t have influence. You don’t have resources. You don’t even know how to begin dismantling something like this in the state you’re in.

And yet—

They had shown up at your door.

They had chased you through a building.

They had threatened you.

Which meant something you had—someone you had—mattered enough to risk it.

You looked at Jungkook again.

At the way he sat curled into himself, trying to be small, trying not to be a burden.

“I don’t want them to use you,” you said quietly. “Even if it brings them down.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to run forever.”

The words were soft—but resolute.

You inhaled sharply. “Jungkook—”

“If me talking means they stop doing this to others,” he said, voice trembling but firm, “then I want to.”

Your heart broke and mended all at once.

“You don’t owe anyone that,” you said.

“I know,” he replied. “I’m choosing it.”

You closed your eyes briefly, then nodded.

“Okay,” you said, opening them again. “Then we do this together. On your terms.”

You typed back to Haneul with shaking fingers.

Y/N:I’m sure Dr. Min informed you of my job, and I am certain you understand my position in the Association. However, provide me with the details. What would stepping forward look like?

The response came almost immediately.

Haneul:It would mean protective custody. Statements. Medical documentation. And people trying very hard to discredit you. 

You swallowed.

Haneul:They’ll keep hunting him until they either get him back—or erase him.

Your breath caught painfully as you set the phone down and looked at Jungkook.

“Whatever we choose,” you said, voice steady despite the fear curling in your gut, “it won’t be easy.”

He nodded. “I know.”

You reached out, hesitated, then squeezed his hand gently.

“But you’re not doing it alone,” you added.

His fingers curled around yours, tentative but real. Looking at the man in front of you, fearful of the future but strong enough to live on. You felt something shift—not into confidence, not into certainty, but into resolve.

You weren’t powerful against them. 

You weren’t prepared.

But you were done being passive.

And for the first time since all of this began, you understood what stepping up actually meant.

Not charging headfirst into danger.

But staying—standing—when everything told you to run.

You would have to thank the field workers for their hard work after and allow them to complain all they want to you. 

Morning came without warning.

Not with sunlight or birdsong, but with the faint vibration of your phone against the bare tabletop and the slow, careful sound of someone breathing nearby.

You opened your eyes to unfamiliar ceilings.

For half a second, panic surged—until memory rushed back in: the alley, the call, the new apartment, Jungkook’s hand curled in yours like a quiet promise that neither of you had broken overnight.

You turned your head slightly.

Jungkook was asleep on the couch beside you, still in human form, wrapped in the blanket you’d tucked around him hours ago. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes, his features softer in sleep than you’d seen them yet. One hand was fisted in the fabric of your sleeve, like he’d grabbed on sometime in the night and refused to let go.

Your chest tightened.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep there. You’d told yourself you’d stay alert, keep watch, be ready if anything went wrong. But exhaustion had dragged you under anyway, heavy and relentless.

Your phone buzzed again.

You stilled instantly.

Jungkook shifted at the sound, brow furrowing, grip tightening reflexively. You reached out with your free hand and brushed your thumb lightly over his knuckles.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, barely breathing. “Just a sound.”

He didn’t wake, but his breathing evened out again.

Only then did you glance at your phone.

Haneul (Secure):Morning. We didn’t lose signal overnight. That’s a good sign.

You swallowed and typed back.

Y/N:We’re still here.

A pause.

Then:

Haneul:I’m on my way with someone you’ll want to meet. Two hours.

Your stomach knotted.

Y/N:Who?

This time, the pause stretched longer.

Haneul:Someone who understands what they did to him.

You stared at the screen, pulse quickening.

Before you could ask more, Jungkook stirred again—this time properly waking. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening as awareness returned.

He froze when he realised where he was.

Then his gaze found you.

“You’re still here,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” you replied immediately. “I told you I would be.”

He studied your face like he was searching for cracks. When he didn’t find any, his shoulders lowered just a fraction.

“Did anything happen?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Not last night.”

His grip on your sleeve loosened, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he sat up slowly, blanket slipping off one shoulder. He flinched, instinctively pulling it back up.

You pretended not to notice.

“Someone’s coming,” you said gently. “From the network Dr. Min mentioned.”

Jungkook tensed. “Are they… like them?”

“No,” you said firmly. “They’re here to help. But we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, softly, “I want to hear what they say.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

The knock came exactly two hours later.

You were ready this time.

You checked the peephole, heart hammering, then the secondary camera feed Dr. Min had helped you set up remotely earlier that morning. Two figures stood outside—one you recognised from the messages, Haneul, and another you didn’t.

The second man was older, greying at the temples, posture tired but steady. He stood with his hands visible, deliberately non-threatening.

You unlocked the door and opened it just enough to speak.

“Y/N,” Haneul greeted quietly. “Thank you for trusting us.”

You nodded once and opened the door fully.

The older man stepped inside first, eyes flicking briefly to Jungkook before immediately looking away, giving him space.

“My name is Seo Minjae,” he said calmly. “I used to work where Jungkook was held.”

The words landed like a dropped plate.

Jungkook stiffened instantly, breath hitching.

You moved closer to him without thinking, grounding.

Minjae noticed—and stopped walking altogether.

“I’m not here to excuse anything,” he continued, voice rough but controlled. “And I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I’m here because I left. And because I know what they’re capable of.”

Jungkook’s voice came out thin. “You hurt people.”

Minjae didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Then Jungkook asked, barely above a whisper, “Why didn’t you stop them?”

Minjae closed his eyes briefly. “Because I was a coward.”

The honesty stunned you.

“I told myself I was protecting the ones I could,” Minjae went on. “That small mercies counted. But the truth is, I stayed too long. And every day I stayed, I became complicit.”

Jungkook’s hands trembled in his lap.

You reached out slowly, letting him decide whether to take your hand.

He did.

Minjae swallowed. “Jungkook, you were part of Project Springlock. A behavioural conditioning program focused on prey hybrids with high adaptability.”

Your stomach twisted.

“They believed fear could be engineered,” Minjae continued. “That obedience could be trained until it became instinct. You were implanted with a tracker not just to locate you—but to monitor stress responses.”

Jungkook looked down. “That’s why it hurts when I panic.”

Minjae nodded. “Yes.”

You felt sick.

“They shut the project down officially after an internal review,” Minjae said. “But unofficially… they moved it elsewhere. Anyone who could identify what was done was either transferred, silenced, or reclassified.”

“Reclassified how?” you asked quietly.

Minjae met your gaze. “As unstable. Unreliable. Dangerous.”

Jungkook flinched.

Your jaw tightened. “So they discredit the victims.”

“Yes.”

Haneul stepped in then. “Which is why they’re panicking now. Jungkook isn’t unstable. He’s functional. He’s aware. And he has someone willing to stand beside him.”

He shook his head. “I need to know. If I’m going to keep running… I need to know what I’m running from.”

Minjae nodded slowly. “They’ll try to take you back. Not because they need you—but because you’re proof they failed.”

Silence pressed in again.

Then Jungkook asked, “If I talk… will it stop?”

Minjae hesitated.

Haneul answered instead. “Not immediately. But it will start something they can’t control.”

Jungkook looked down at your joined hands.

“And you?” he asked suddenly, looking up at you. “What happens to you?”

Your breath caught.

“They’ll try to scare you,” Haneul said carefully. “Threaten your job. Your reputation. Your safety.”

You exhaled slowly. “They’re already doing that.”

Jungkook’s fingers tightened around yours. “I don’t want you to lose everything because of me.”

You leaned closer, voice firm but gentle. “You are not the reason this is happening.”

Minjae cleared his throat. “If you choose to proceed, there’s a process. Recorded statements. Medical scans. Psychological evaluations.”

Jungkook’s shoulders tensed.

“You won’t be alone,” Haneul added quickly. “And nothing happens without consent.”

A long pause followed.

Finally, Jungkook nodded once.

“I’ll talk,” he said. His voice shook, but it didn’t break. “But not today.”

Haneul smiled softly. “That’s more than enough for now.”

Minjae bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”

When they left an hour later, the apartment felt quieter—but heavier too.

Jungkook sank back onto the couch, exhaustion catching up to him all at once. He stared at the wall, unfocused.

“I feel like I opened a door,” he murmured.

You sat beside him. “You did.”

“What if I can’t close it again?”

You thought of the night before. Of him clinging to you in fear, then choosing to stay.

“Then we figure out how to live with it open,” you said. “Together.”

He turned to you, eyes dark and tired. “You’re not scared?”

You smiled faintly. “I am. Just not enough to leave.”

He leaned into you, careful and tentative, head resting against your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a long time, listening to the city breathe around you. You knew that with your direct involvement, you will not be able to continue as a part of the project. But you trusted your team enough to know that haywire was the correct word to express the situation. You could just imagine the state of the office when you returned. 

But for now, you knew documents were being pulled and names being spoken again after years of silence.

You looked at Jungkook, and for the first time since the chase began, you felt it—quiet, undeniable.

Not victory.

Not certainty - never.

But commitment.

The first sign that everything had gone suddenly wrong was your instinct of fleeing - the kind that presses too hard against your ears, that makes your skin prickle like it knows something you don’t yet. The safehouse had its usual hum: the refrigerator cycling, pipes ticking faintly, the city’s distant murmur filtered through reinforced walls.

You were halfway through reheating soup when the lights flickered once.

Twice.

Jungkook froze mid-step.

You didn’t need to look at him to know his ears had flattened, that his body had gone rigid with the kind of instinct fear no therapy could fully erase.

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “Something’s wrong.”

You were already moving.

You cut the stove, grabbed your phone, and opened the secure channel Haneul had installed. No signal. Not even static—just dead air.

Your stomach dropped.

“Go,” you whispered, already pulling open the hidden compartment beneath the counter. “Bathroom. Second panel. Now.”

Jungkook hesitated for half a second.

Then he nodded.

You’d practised this. Over and over. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He disappeared down the hall just as the low, almost inaudible thrum of machinery vibrated through the floor.

EMP-grade jammer.

Your blood went cold.

The knock came next.

Three sharp raps.

Professional.

Controlled.

You didn’t answer.

The raps repeated—louder this time.

“Y/N L/N,” a voice called from the other side. Calm. Male. “This is a compliance team with the Hybrid Regulation Authority. We’re here to conduct a welfare check.”

Liar.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you backed toward the hallway, fingers slipping into the pocket of your hoodie where your pepper spray sat uselessly against men with guns and authorisation papers forged better than any courtroom would catch at first glance.

You pressed the panic button hidden beneath the light switch.

Nothing happened.

Of course.

The door exploded inward.

Wood splintered, the frame collapsing as three men in dark uniforms surged into the apartment with military precision. Masks covered their faces, visors opaque, weapons raised but not firing.

“Target present,” one said. “Secure the hybrid.”

Your body moved before your brain did.

“No,” you shouted, stepping into their path. “You don’t have a warrant—!”

A gloved hand shoved you aside with enough force to send you crashing into the wall. Pain exploded through your shoulder, but you stayed upright.

Another man grabbed your arm, wrenching it behind your back.

“Non-lethal restraint,” someone ordered. “She’s not the asset.”

Asset.

The word burned.

You struggled, twisting violently as you heard a  deafening crash echo from the bathroom.

Then a scream.

Jungkook’s scream.

“LET HIM GO!” you screamed, kicking backward hard. Your heel connected with something solid—a knee, maybe—and the grip on you faltered just enough for you to wrench free.

You ran.

The bathroom door had been ripped off its hinges. Panels torn open. The men hadn’t been gentle.

Jungkook was backed against the far wall, still in human form, eyes wild, blood trickling from a cut at his temple. Two men closed in on him, shock batons crackling with restrained energy.

“No!” you shouted, throwing yourself between them without thinking.

One of the men hesitated.

The other didn’t.

The baton discharged.

Pain like lightning ripped through your body.

You hit the floor hard, vision swimming, muscles locking as electricity tore through you. You bit down on a scream, teeth scraping your tongue raw.

Through the ringing in your ears, you heard Jungkook sob.

“Don’t touch her!” he screamed, voice breaking. “Please—please—!”

Something changed.

The air felt… heavier.

You forced your eyes open just in time to see it.

Jungkook’s pupils blew wide.

His breath hitched once—

And then the world shifted.

The men nearest him staggered back as a shockwave rippled outward, not explosive but forceful enough to knock them off balance. Jungkook doubled over, clutching his chest as fur erupted across his skin in violent waves.

Bones cracked.

Limbs shortened.

In seconds, he was no longer human.

Not fully rabbit either.

He stood somewhere between—taller than before, broader, eyes glowing faintly red with fear and fury. His ears were long and upright, fur bristling along his spine, claws scraping against tile.

The men froze.

“What the hell—” one breathed.

“Full hybrid response,” another snapped. “Sedate—!”

Too late.

Jungkook moved.

He didn’t attack wildly. He dodged. Fast. Faster than you’d ever seen. One man went down with a cry as Jungkook slammed into him shoulder-first, sending him crashing into the sink hard enough to crack porcelain.

Another raised his weapon—

Jungkook kicked off the wall, twisting midair, knocking it out of his hands with brutal precision.

He was crying.

You could hear it—broken, animalistic sounds torn from his throat as he fought.

Not to hurt.

To escape.

“Jungkook!” you shouted hoarsely, pushing yourself up despite your protesting body. 

He looked at you and for half a second, the chaos stilled.

Then he ran to you.

You grabbed his wrist—furred, shaking, real—and bolted.

The hallway was chaos. More boots. Shouting. Orders barked through comms you couldn’t hear but could feel in the way the men moved to intercept.

A gunshot cracked.

It hit the wall inches from your head.

Jungkook snarled, spinning instinctively to shield you.

You dragged him forward. “Don’t—just run!”

The emergency stairwell loomed ahead.

Locked.

“Shit—”

Jungkook slammed his shoulder into the door.

Once.

Twice.

The third hit burst the lock clean.

You tumbled down the stairs together, feet pounding concrete as alarms blared overhead. Your lungs burned. Your legs screamed.

Somewhere above, someone shouted, “Do NOT let them exit the building!”

You burst out into the underground garage, cold air slamming into you like a blessing.

A familiar voice cut through the chaos.

“THIS WAY!”

Haneul.

She stood by a battered van with the side door open, weapon raised, eyes sharp.

You didn’t hesitate.

Jungkook scooped you up without warning, strength surging, and sprinted the last stretch in a blur. You barely registered hitting the floor of the van before the door slammed shut and the engine roared to life.

The van screeched out of the garage just as bullets sparked against concrete behind you.

You collapsed against the floor, chest heaving, pain catching up to you all at once.

Jungkook knelt beside you immediately, panic all over his face as his form shifted again—shrinking, fur receding, hands trembling as they pressed against your shoulders.

“Y/N—Y/N—please—are you hurt?” His voice was wrecked.

You laughed weakly, breathless. “You… should see the other guy.”

He let out a broken sound and pulled you into his arms, holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he loosened his grip.

Haneul swore softly from the front seat. “They’re not backing off anymore.”

You swallowed, heart pounding.

Jungkook looked at you, eyes dark and shining. “I didn’t want this,” he whispered. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “Listen to me. What happened back there? That wasn’t you causing harm.”

“It wasn’t?” His voice cracked.

“No,” you said firmly. “That was you trying to survive. So don’t apologise. I signed up for this the moment I decided to not let you go. It is not your fault.”

The van disappeared into traffic, sirens wailing somewhere far behind.

Your hands shook as the adrenaline finally began to ebb, leaving fear and resolve in its wake.

They had crossed a line and there would be no quiet endings.

[kryia-g]

Letters | PJM | Teaser 1

Hi, everyone! A new series is coming out. From the headers I'm sure you guys know its for Jimin this time. Hope you guys stay tuned for it and enjoy the little teaser!

Again. Again. And again. 

All the time, blood, sweat, effort, and tears and still behind. 

Jimin laid down starfish-style and panted on the studio floor, sweat dripping down. If one could say, it would be an ocean soon.  

Never enough. 

Jimin got up on shaky legs, positioning himself as he looked at the mirror. 

Ready. Go. Turn. Scoop the leg up.

The pirouette only had seven rotations before Jimin lost his axis, slipping off and landed ungracefully. Frustrated, he sat on the ground and curled up in a corner as his brain worked - thinking of ways to improve, what went wrong, where went wrong. 

But yet, every time he got up and tried again, it didn't stick. Every element doesn’t stick. Everything he did seems like it was just getting worse the more he worked on it and he’s annoyed. 

The emotions and the pressure rushes in. The criticism crashed in stormy waves. 

And suddenly, nothing he does is ever good enough.

[kryia-g]

Just a yap yap (dear diary or everyone) session-

Soooo... Hi everyone. I've been so busy recently and really haven't had much time to myself, much less doing any sort of writing. PJM is coming out next, well scheduled months ahead so i'm not too worried.

KTH is right after - THAT I am worried cause I'm halfway through and literally knocking out left and right after work.

I'm just here writing to you guys cause I'm seriously loosing my shit (pardon my language) over... jobs and more jobs. Life sucks - technically, opportunities are sucking shit right now but it's fine. Life will be fine - for now, just going to go through it like a crusing ship in turbulent waves.

Anyways, I promise to arrange the Tumblr by the end of this week. Someone remind me if I end up lazing and it's not done... I need reminders to eat my medications nowadays too cause I'm literally so out of it I'm forgetting stuff.

Okay, that's it, thanks for listening - technically, reading, but yeah. See you guys with the new PJM series and thank you all so very much for giving Wildflower KNJ so much love.

For those asks and one-shots, I swear they're in works but my brain is not working. I'll get them up when I actually get sufficient rest for once in the past month or so or something like that (I've lost track of time, don't ask me what day it is, please-).

But yes, okay. That's it, for real.

Thank you all for the yap and support.

[kryia-g]

Love Maze | JJK | Chapter 7

Pair: Hybrid Bunny Hybrid x F Reader 

Summary: Y/N is someone who never planned to adopt a hybrid—until she meets Jungkook, a withdrawn rabbit hybrid feared by everyone at the shelter. She brings him home thinking it’ll be a quiet fresh start, but strange signs soon appear: a scar on his neck, panic around cars, and someone suddenly digging into his records.

When threats begin to surface, Y/N realises Jungkook wasn’t simply abandoned—he was taken, tracked, and never meant to stay free. With no power or connections, she’s forced to fight in the only way she can: by refusing to give him back, and protecting him with everything she has.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: angst, abuse, smut (I'll add on more when I write more!)

Tags: @esposadomd @faelvz @svnk1ssd @toskaesuriennt @somehowukook @fluffysheepmaster @svnbangtansworld @teardoong @wonznme @smoljimjim @ttipa @untitled37315 @forevermoon1306

WC: 2998

< Prev. Series mstr. Next > 

Morning came slowly.

Not with sunlight spilling through windows or the comforting noise of a city waking up, but with the faint hum of electricity in the walls and the soft, uneven rhythm of breathing beside you.

You hadn’t slept.

Not really.

You sat on the couch all night, back against the armrest, one hand resting lightly on the blanket that covered Jungkook. He was still in human form, curled on his side like he was afraid to take up space, dark hair falling into his eyes. His breathing had evened out hours ago, exhaustion finally pulling him under—but you stayed awake anyway, watching the rise and fall of his chest like it was something fragile you might lose if you blinked too long.

Every so often, he twitched. A frown would crease his brow. His fingers would curl tighter into the fabric.

Each time, your heart squeezed.

At some point near dawn, your phone vibrated softly on the coffee table.

You flinched, reaching for it immediately so the sound wouldn’t wake him.

Dr. Min:Status check. Are you both safe?

You typed back with stiff fingers.

Y/N:Yes. He shifted. Human form. He’s asleep now.

The reply came quickly.

Dr. Min:That’s significant. Likely stress-induced. Do not push him to talk. Let him set the pace.

You glanced down at Jungkook.

He looked impossibly young like this. Smaller somehow, stripped of fur and instinctive defenses. Just a boy wrapped in blankets, trusting you not to break whatever fragile sense of safety he’d built overnight.

Y/N:They won’t leave us alone, will they?

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Then:

Dr. Min:No. But now they’re on a clock.

You swallowed.

Before you could respond, Jungkook stirred.

His eyelashes fluttered, brow creasing as consciousness returned. For a split second, panic flashed across his face—his body tensing, breath hitching—

Then his eyes landed on you.

Still there.

You watched the tension ease out of him in real time, like a string slowly unwinding.

“Hey,” you whispered. “Good morning.”

He hesitated, then pushed himself up on one elbow, blanket slipping slightly. He froze again when he looked down at himself, at unfamiliar limbs and skin.

“I’m still…” His voice was hoarse, barely used. “Like this.”

“Yes,” you said gently. “You are.”

He searched your face. “You didn’t… make me change back?”

You shook your head. “It’s your body. Not mine to decide.”

Something unreadable flickered across his expression.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on both of you.

Finally, he spoke again. “I didn’t know it would happen.”

“I figured,” you said softly. “It scared you.”

He nodded once. Then, after a pause, added quietly, “I thought… if I showed you, you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

You leaned forward slightly, careful not to crowd him. “Jungkook, listen to me. I didn’t bring you here because I wanted a pet. Or because you were easy. Or because you stayed in rabbit form.” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “I brought you here because you deserved somewhere safe. That doesn’t change depending on how you look.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“You didn’t run,” he said, almost to himself.

“No,” you replied. “I didn’t.”

Another silence settled—this one heavier, but not hostile.

Eventually, he shifted his weight awkwardly. “I… don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

The honesty in his voice made your chest ache.

“You don’t have to know,” you said. “Today, you just… exist. That’s enough.”

He let out a shaky breath.

You stood slowly. “I’m going to make breakfast. Do you want to stay here, or—”

“I’ll stay,” he said quickly, then winced like he’d spoken too loudly. “If that’s okay.”

You smiled faintly. “Of course it is.”

You moved into the small kitchen, hyper-aware of every sound you made. You kept things simple—toast, fruit, tea—nothing that required much effort or attention.

When you brought the tray back, Jungkook was sitting up fully now, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looked uncomfortable, unsure what to do with his hands, his posture stiff like he was bracing for instructions that never came.

You set the tray down on the coffee table. “Eat if you want. Or don’t. No rules.”

He stared at the food like it might disappear if he touched it.

Finally, he picked up a piece of toast, fingers trembling slightly.

He took a bite.

Paused.

Then another.

You looked away, giving him privacy even though every part of you wanted to watch, to make sure he was okay.

Halfway through breakfast, your phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t Dr. Min.

It was a work email.

Subject: Urgent – Attendance Required

Your stomach dropped.

You opened it.

Due to staffing shortages, all approved leave is temporarily suspended. Please confirm your availability to return today.

You stared at the screen, pulse pounding.

You couldn’t go back.

Not now. Not with Jungkook like this. Not with people actively trying to find him.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Jungkook noticed your expression. “What is it?”

“Work,” you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “They want me back.”

His shoulders tensed immediately. “Because of me?”

“No,” you said quickly. “This isn’t your fault.”

But the damage was done.

He looked down, fingers curling into the blanket. “If I wasn’t here—”

You cut him off gently. “Stop. You don’t get to blame yourself for other people’s cruelty.”

He went quiet.

You typed out a reply with shaking hands.

I’m unavailable due to a personal emergency. Please refer to LK107-C for further details. I'll update when possible.

You hit send before you could overthink it.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly.

You silenced it and set it face down.

“Okay,” you said, exhaling. “That’s handled.”

Jungkook studied you. “You’re choosing this,” he said slowly. “You’re choosing… me.”

The weight of that settled between you.

“Yes,” you answered simply.

Before he could respond, a soft beep sounded from your phone again.

This time, it wasn’t work.

It was a notification from an unfamiliar app—one you didn’t remember installing.

Location services activated.

Your blood ran cold.

You grabbed the phone, heart racing, scrolling frantically.

Another notification appeared.

External ping detected.

“No,” you whispered. “No, no, no—”

Jungkook was on his feet instantly, panic flaring across his face. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re tracking something,” you said, breath coming fast. “I don’t know what, but—”

The lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Jungkook flinched violently, backing away until he hit the wall, eyes wide.

Your phone vibrated again.

Unknown:We can see you.

Your hands shook so badly you nearly dropped the phone.

You looked around the room, heart hammering. The safehouse suddenly felt very small.

“Jungkook,” you said urgently. “Listen to me. I need you to stay calm.”

“I can’t,” he said, voice cracking. “I can’t—”

“You can,” you insisted, stepping toward him. “Look at me. Look at me.”

He met your gaze, breath ragged.

“They’re not inside,” you said, forcing logic into your fear. “They’re trying to scare us.”

Another message came through.

Unknown:Open the door.

Jungkook made a broken sound, hands clenching at his sides.

You moved in front of him instinctively, back to the wall. “No one is opening anything.”

Your phone buzzed again.

Unknown:Last chance.

Before you could respond, there was a loud thud from somewhere below—metal against concrete, distant but deliberate.

Jungkook cried out softly, collapsing against you.

“I don’t want to go back,” he whispered. “Please.”

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, heart pounding like it might burst out of your chest.

“I won’t let them take you,” you said, voice shaking but fierce. “I swear.”

Your phone rang.

Not a text.

A call.

Blocked number.

You stared at it for half a second—then declined.

Immediately, another call came in.

And another.

You shut the phone off completely.

Silence crashed down.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then your phone buzzed again despite being off.

A final message forced its way onto the screen.

Unknown:We know what he is.

Your breath caught.

You looked down at Jungkook.

At the man trembling in your arms, terrified and human and real.

Something hardened inside you.

“You know what?” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. “So do I.”

You reached for your bag, pulling it closer. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Jungkook looked up at you, fear and trust tangled together. “Where?”

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “But somewhere they can’t just knock on the door and expect us to answer.”

You grabbed your phone again, turning it back on just long enough to dial one number.

Dr. Min.

She picked up immediately.

“They found us,” you said, voice steady despite the chaos in your chest. “I need help.”

There was no hesitation on the other end.

“Then it’s time,” Dr. Min said. “We stop running.”

You swallowed.

Outside, somewhere in the city, someone believed Jungkook still belonged to them.

You tightened your grip around him and realised something with chilling clarity: You’ve had enough. This time, you were going to fight back whether you were ready or not, because you were already in it.

The building went dark.

Not all at once—not dramatically—but in a way that was far more unsettling. The lights dimmed, flickered, then steadied at a low, sickly glow that made everything look wrong around the edges. The hum in the walls changed pitch, dropping into something deeper, heavier.

Jungkook stiffened in your arms.

“They’re here,” he whispered.

Your heart pounded so hard you could hear it in your ears. “No,” you said quickly, even as doubt clawed at your chest. “This place is shielded. They can’t just—”

A low thud echoed through the building.

Not outside.

Inside.

Your breath caught.

Dr. Min’s words from earlier replayed in your head: They’re on a clock.

You grabbed your bag with one hand, keeping the other anchored around Jungkook’s shoulders. “Okay,” you said, forcing steadiness into your voice. “Change of plan.”

He looked at you, eyes wide, panic barely contained. “I can’t—I can’t go outside.”

“I know,” you said softly. “You don’t have to. Just listen to me.”

Another sound—closer this time. Heavy footsteps somewhere below, deliberate and unhurried.

“They know where we are,” you murmured, more to yourself than him. “Which means hiding isn’t enough anymore.”

Your phone vibrated in your palm—one bar of signal, flickering.

A message came through.

Dr. Min:Basement corridor compromised. Do not use the main stairwell.

Your pulse spiked. Basement? You weren’t anywhere near—

Then you remembered.

The safehouses built was never a single apartment. It was a cluster, a network. That’s why when the Association tries to find hybrids, it proves difficult due to the way that it is made. Something the government needs to work on but for now… 

Someone had breached the perimeter and you have never gotten to see the main blueprints of the networks. Right now, you only have Dr Min and the hope that your colleagues will find you. 

You typed back with shaking fingers.

Y/N:We’re on the fifth floor. Lights are unstable.

The reply came almost instantly.

Dr. Min:Stay put. I’m rerouting assistance. Do NOT open the door.

As if on cue, the door handle rattled.

Once.

Twice.

Jungkook let out a sharp, broken sound, backing away until his shoulders hit the wall. His breathing spiralled, shallow and fast, hands fisting into the blanket wrapped around him.

“No,” he whispered. “Please—please—”

You stepped between him and the door without thinking, heart hammering. “Jungkook,” you said firmly. “Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Look at me,” you repeated, louder this time—not angry, just there. Present.

His eyes flicked up to yours.

“Good,” you said, keeping your voice low and steady. “You’re here. You’re not back there. You’re with me.”

Another knock. Louder. More impatient.

A man’s voice filtered through the door, calm and infuriatingly reasonable. “We know you’re inside. We don’t want to make this unpleasant.”

Your hands curled into fists.

A pause.

Then a soft chuckle. “You really don’t understand what you’re holding, do you?”

Jungkook whimpered.

Something inside you snapped—not in a dramatic, fiery way, but with cold clarity.

You understood enough.

You glanced around the room, mind racing. The windows were sealed. The bathroom door—reinforced. The emergency hatch you remembered the field team mentioning about in passing when they were complaining during dinners- 

Your gaze snapped to the ceiling panel above the kitchen.

There.

“Jungkook,” you whispered urgently. “Can you climb?”

He stared at you, terrified. “I—I think so.”

“Okay,” you said. “That’s enough.”

The door handle rattled again, harder this time.

You moved fast, dragging a chair under the ceiling panel and climbing up, heart in your throat. You shoved the panel aside and peered into the dark crawlspace beyond.

Narrow. Dusty. Uninviting.

You turned back to Jungkook, holding out your hand. “Trust me.”

He hesitated for only a second before taking it.

His grip was tight—desperate—but solid.

You helped him up, guiding him carefully into the crawlspace. He moved awkwardly, unused to this body, but adrenaline carried him forward.

As you climbed in after him, the sound of something splintering echoed behind you.

Wood cracking.

Metal groaning.

“They’re breaking in,” Jungkook whispered, voice shaking.

“I know,” you said, forcing calm into your tone. “Keep moving.”

The crawlspace sloped downward, leading toward what you guessed was another unit—or an exit. It was dark, the air stale, dust clogging your throat. You crawled on hands and knees, following the faint emergency lighting strips lining the path.

Behind you, a crash.

The door gave way.

Footsteps flooded the apartment.

Voices—low, irritated.

“They’re gone.”

“Search the place.”

Jungkook’s breathing hitched.

You reached back blindly and squeezed his hand. “You’re doing great,” you whispered. “Just a little further.”

The crawlspace opened into a narrow service corridor—unfinished concrete, exposed pipes, flickering lights. A red EXIT sign glowed at the far end like a promise.

You dropped down first, turning to help Jungkook.

The moment his feet hit the floor, he sagged against you, knees buckling.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m tired.”

You caught him, heart aching. “I know. Just lean on me.”

You wrapped his arm around your shoulders and half-dragged, half-supported him down the corridor. Every sound felt amplified—the slap of your shoes, the ragged pull of his breath.

The exit door loomed closer.

Then—

A figure stepped into the corridor ahead.

You froze.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in dark clothing that blended into the shadows.

A wolf hybrid.

Not the same one from the store—but close enough that your stomach dropped.

His eyes flicked to Jungkook instantly.

Recognition.

Possession.

“There you are,” he said softly, like he was greeting a lost pet.

Jungkook went rigid, a low, terrified sound tearing from his throat. His grip tightened painfully around your shoulder.

“Stay back,” you said, voice shaking but loud.

The wolf tilted his head. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. He’s not meant to be out here.”

“He’s not yours,” you shot back.

The wolf smiled thinly. “You think this is about ownership?” He took a step forward. “This is about control.”

Your heart raced. You glanced behind you—no way back. The voices from the apartment were getting closer.

Trapped.

Jungkook’s breathing spiralled. His body trembled violently, like he was about to shatter.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no—”

Heat flooded the air again—stronger this time, almost suffocating.

You felt it before you saw it: the way his body tensed, muscles locking, skin flushing.

“Jungkook,” you said urgently. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t,” he gasped. “I can’t stop it.”

The wolf’s eyes widened slightly, interest sparking. “Ah,” he murmured. “So that’s new.”

Fear turned to fury in your chest.

“Don’t look at him,” you snapped.

Too late.

Jungkook cried out, collapsing against you as the air warped around him. You held on, bracing as his body shifted—bones stretching, fur rippling back into existence in a flash of white.

In seconds, he was back in rabbit form—smaller, shaking violently, pressed against your chest like he was trying to disappear into you.

The wolf took another step forward.

Instinct took over.

You lunged.

Not at him—but past him.

You bolted for the exit, clutching Jungkook tight, heart hammering in your ears. The wolf cursed, reaching out—

But you slammed through the exit door and into the night.

Cold air hit you like a slap.

You didn’t stop running.

You didn’t look back.

You ran down the alley, lungs burning, legs screaming, adrenaline carrying you further than you thought possible. Jungkook clung to you, body trembling but alive.

Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance.

Lights flared behind you.

Shouting.

Then—nothing.

You ducked into a side street and collapsed behind a dumpster, chest heaving, vision swimming. You slid down against the cold concrete, curling around Jungkook protectively.

He shifted weakly, pressing his head into your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I gave myself away.”

“No,” you said fiercely, tears burning your eyes. “You saved us.”

He looked up at you, eyes glossy. “I was scared.”

“I know,” you murmured, stroking between his ears with trembling fingers. “And you still kept going.”

You stayed there for a long moment, catching your breath, the city’s noise slowly bleeding back in around you.

Your phone buzzed weakly in your pocket.

One bar.

A call from Dr. Min.

You answered with shaking hands. “We got out.”

A sharp exhale on the other end. “Listen to me carefully. That breach confirms many things that we don’t have the time to discuss.”

You swallowed. “What do we do now?”

A pause.

Then, “We start treating this like a case.”

Your stomach clenched.

“You understand the procedures behind the table but right now, your actions cannot mimic that.”

You looked down at Jungkook, small and fragile in your arms, eyes watching you with quiet trust.

You tightened your hold.

“Okay,” you said softly, eyes determined. “Help me and tell me what comes next.”

[kryia-g]

Wildflower | KNJ | Chapter 8

Pair: Lawyer Namjoon x Hybrid Reader

Summary: Y/N has a habit - her schedules are always set, always pristine, always clear. Namjoon has a habit of doing things he doesn't like - particularly dinner with colleagues. But he wants to do one thing, and that is to hunt down prey.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid

Warnings: angst, abuse, smut

Taglist: @lovejkmilitarywife @forevermoon1306

WC: 2131

< Prev. Series mstr.

The courthouse smelled of polished wood, wax, and the faint tang of too many bodies pressed into too little air. Sunlight sliced through tall windows in sharp, deliberate lines, and for a moment, the space felt like a cage painted in gold. You walked beside Namjoon, shoulders stiff, hands buried in the pockets of your coat. Every step echoed off the high ceiling, a hollow reminder that this room had heard a thousand pleas, seen a thousand anxieties, and would see a thousand more.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked, voice low, almost swallowed by the vastness. He adjusted his tie—a gesture meant for composure but one that betrayed the tension coiled beneath the surface. His thumb brushed yours briefly, a silent promise that you were not alone.

“I don’t think anyone is ever ready for this,” you whispered.

“Then we’ll get through it anyway,” he said, the certainty in his voice a fragile anchor in the storm of your nerves.

Inside, the courtroom was already half full. Journalists clustered in small groups, pens poised over notepads, cameras discreetly angled. Their faces were masks of polite curiosity, but you felt the weight of scrutiny pressing into your chest. Horizon Development’s team lounged with the calculated ease of predators who had been here before, eyes cold and unreadable. Seo Minjae, their lead counsel, radiated control. Every movement was measured; every glance a subtle test.

The judge, tall and imposing, sat high in the center, hair pulled back in a tight bun, eyes like dark glass—reflective, but impossible to read. The gavel was a distant echo, already shaping the rhythm of the day before the first word was even spoken.

The first hour passed in procedural motions, objections, and clarifications. You and Namjoon remained silent observers, whispering the occasional reminder to each other, your fingers brushing against folders bulging with documentation. Every so often, you caught Minjae’s gaze, precise and cold, calculating. He wasn’t just a lawyer—he was a predator circling, waiting for the slightest weakness.

Finally, the judge’s gaze settled on you. “Ms. Y/N,” they said, voice neutral, “you may proceed.”

The room shrank around you. Every set of eyes focused on the slight tremor in your hands, the uneven breath, the folders clutched like shields. Yet, beneath the fear, a thread of resolve wove itself tighter.

“The bookstore is not just a business,” you began, voice low but deliberate. “It is a home. A sanctuary. And it is the livelihood of one family. It was where my father started this business to make me live through the tough times and I am glad to have been able to smile because of it. My life, my well-being, and my emotional stability are tied to it. ”

Namjoon’s presence beside you was steady, grounding. You could feel the heat of him through the small distance between you, a tether to reality when your words threatened to shake under pressure.

“You may call it a business,” you continued, “but it is also a space that sustains lives, builds community, and preserves culture. The repeated inspections, notices, and implied threats by Horizon Development are not routine—they are harassment.”

Minjae raised an eyebrow, sleek and sharp. “Objection. Emotional claims are speculative and irrelevant to the matter of regulatory compliance.”

You inhaled, carefully shaping your next words. “This is not speculation,” you said. “This is harassment weaponized under the guise of compliance. Notices at dawn, lawyers following proprietors, surveillance of routine operations—these are not normal inspections. They are intimidation, coercion, and an abuse of power.”

The judge tapped a pen against the desk, considering. Minjae’s lips pressed into a thin line, but the motion did not falter your resolve.

Namjoon’s voice joined yours, calm but cutting. “We have documentation. Photos, emails, timelines. All inspections have been normal, completed, and addressed. The escalation is deliberate. It is calculated.”

You added, voice sharper now, resonant with months of suppressed anxiety: “This is not a matter of broken compliance. It is a pattern of coercion designed to force the sale of a family-owned business. Emotional wellbeing and legal compliance are not mutually exclusive.”

The room was silent. The judge’s pen paused mid-note. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

Seo Minjae rose, deliberate, controlled, lethal in his calm. “Your Honor, the plaintiffs have constructed an emotional narrative to obscure clear neglect of proper regulatory standards. All inspections were routine. Allegations of harassment are emotionalized exaggeration.”

Namjoon’s hand brushed yours briefly, grounding. “This is not emotionalization,” he said. “Every documented interaction, every notice, and every escalation shows a deliberate pattern intended to intimidate and coerce. Ms. Y/N’s life has been disrupted—emotionally, financially, personally. This is harassment. Not speculation.”

Minjae’s eyes flicked at the judge, searching for a lifeline in the cold steel of precedent. You pressed forward. “Routine inspections do not include posting notices at dawn. Routine inspections do not include cameras watching, messages harassing proprietors, and lawyers attempting to force a private sale. This is harassment, plain and simple.”

Namjoon’s voice carried over yours, calm but firm, steadying the room. “We are not here for theatrics. The bookstore has complied with every legitimate regulation. The escalation is nothing more than an attempt to force compliance under duress. Emotional wellbeing, safety, and legality are intertwined. Ignoring one invalidates the other.”

The hours passed, sharply yet in a blur of evidence, testimonies, and arguments. Your hands ached from gripping pens. Your shoulders burned from holding tension. Yet, every time you faltered, Namjoon was there—steadfast, steady, unyielding. You leaned on each other without speaking. Every glance, every small squeeze of the hand reinforced that you were not alone.

Finally, the judge rose. Silence swallowed the courtroom whole.

“We will issue a preliminary ruling,” the judge said, voice calm but carrying authority. “Until further notice, Horizon Development is prohibited from conducting inspections or actions that may be interpreted as harassment. Full hearings will continue, but this temporary measure protects the proprietors.”

Relief crashed through you, a tidal wave of exhaustion and disbelief. Tears burned behind your eyelids, unchecked but silent. Namjoon’s hand tightened around yours, grounding, reassuring, and anchoring. For the first time in weeks, the bookstore felt untouchable.

Namjoon’s voice was low, almost a whisper against the wind: “We held.”

You let yourself lean into him, foreheads touching. “We did,” you said softly, the words finally carrying the weight of truth.

For a moment, the world paused, and in that pause, you realized that the fight wasn’t just about the bookstore, or the harassment, or the law. It was about claiming space for yourselves. About standing, together, against the weight of expectation, fear, and doubt.

In that golden light, with the echoes of the courthouse fading behind you, you and Namjoon finally allowed yourselves to breathe, to feel, and to exist, unguarded and untethered by the invisible chains of what-ifs and should-haves.

The morning sunlight spilled through the bookstore windows, soft and forgiving, painting golden patterns across the polished wood floors. Dust motes floated lazily in the light, like tiny sparks of quiet magic. You leaned against the counter, still wrapped in a thick knit sweater, watching the door chime as the first few customers of the day wandered in. Their voices were low, respectful, reverent even, like they sensed the space had survived something profound and now held a fragility worth honoring.

It had been three weeks since the preliminary ruling. Three weeks since the courtroom, the tension, the endless nights of worry and sleepless anticipation. And yet, walking into the store now, every shelf lined neatly, every spine straight and polished, it felt like reclaiming a piece of herself. A piece that had almost been lost.

Namjoon entered behind you, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the room with a careful pride that made your heart ache. He moved quietly, as though afraid to disturb the stillness, yet his presence filled the space entirely.

“Morning,” he said, voice low but steady.

“Morning,” you replied, eyes flicking to him, tracing the line of his jaw, the way his tie was slightly loosened, shoulders relaxed but broad. He had slept. He had rested. You noticed these things now, after months of hyperawareness and worry.

He moved closer, tilting his head slightly. “It smells… like victory,” he said with a small smirk.

You laughed, the sound catching slightly, unpracticed after weeks of tension. “Or like old paper and too much coffee,” you teased, gesturing to the steaming mug on the counter.

“Old paper and too much coffee,” he repeated with mock solemnity, and she realized he meant it as a kind of affirmation. A reminder that life, even with its weight, carried small comforts worth noticing.

The both of you moved together through the bookstore, checking corners, adjusting displays. Your hands lingered over familiar spines, fingertips brushing over titles that had been constants through the months of chaos, your sanctuary unchanged despite everything.

“You know,” Namjoon said softly, “you could have sold this place. You had the chance.”

You shook your head. “And give up everything I love? Everything that matters? No. Not a chance.”

His hand found yours, fingers intertwining naturally. “I’m glad,” he said simply, eyes catching yours with an intensity that held no pretense, no calculation. “I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad this… all of this… stayed yours.”

You could reclaim what had almost been lost and he was no more than happy to be a part of it.

Later that day, you stood near the window, watching the street beyond. The air smelled of rain and concrete, of spring just beginning to edge into the city. Namjoon leaned against the counter behind her, arms crossed, observing quietly.

“They’ll try again,” You said finally, almost to herself. “Horizon Development won’t give up just because of one preliminary ruling.”

“They might,” he replied, voice calm but firm. “But we’ll be ready. We’re not the same as we were before. You’re not alone in this anymore.”

You smiled faintly, a mixture of relief and gratitude. “I know. And I don’t think I ever want to be.”

Namjoon stepped closer, tilting her chin up gently. “I meant it before, and I mean it now,” he said, voice soft, almost a whisper. “You don’t owe me your protection, your silence, or your isolation. You don’t owe me anything. But… I want to be here. Always. If you’ll let me.”

Your eyes glimmered, tears threatening but held back, shimmering in the golden light. “You don’t know how much that means,” she admitted quietly.

“You don’t have to say it,” he replied. “You just have to let me be here.”

And she did.

Weeks passed, and the bookstore flourished. Customers returned, drawn by the quiet charm and the unshakable warmth of the place. You worked behind the counter, movements confident and sure. Namjoon often stayed, sometimes quietly observing, sometimes helping restock or reorganize, but always there, always steady.

One afternoon, as sunlight spilled across the floorboards and the shop filled with the low hum of conversation and the smell of coffee, you paused at the doorway.

“Namjoon,” you called softly. He turned from the shelf he had been adjusting, a book in hand, eyebrows raised. “Walk with me,” you said.

Together, they stepped outside, the city alive but forgiving, as if aware that a battle had been fought and survived. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked streets and blossoming flowers. They walked in silence, not because words were unnecessary, but because the quiet spoke louder than any conversation could.

At the edge of the street, the bookstore glowed warmly behind them, its light spilling onto the pavement. You paused, hands brushing against Namjoon’s.

“It’s ours,” you said softly. “All of it. Every corner, every book, and every moment that happens here. It’s ours to protect, ours to keep.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand gently. “And we will. Together.”

A car passed, splashing a faint mist from a puddle, and the light from the windows flickered against their faces. You looked up at him, the weight of the past months finally settling into a quiet calm.

“I think… I think I’m ready,” you whispered.

“For what?” he asked, his head tilting. 

“For everything,” you said, voice steady now, a smile curving her lips. “For life. For this. For… us.”

He smiled back, the kind of smile that held laughter, relief, love, and unwavering certainty. “Then we start here,” he said, eyes tracing the warm glow of the bookstore behind them, “and carry it everywhere else.”

The world stretched before them, uncertain, alive, and unbroken. But for the first time in a long time, you and Namjoon felt unafraid to face it—together.

And behind them, the bookstore was a quiet reminder that some things were worth fighting for, worth protecting, and worth loving.