˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.
pairing: brother's best friend!jungkook × f!reader
cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut
>> english is not my first language
chapter 3 | masterlist
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The amusement park is Dohyun’s idea.
Which means that by the time Saturday finally arrives, you’ve already spent the better part of two weeks hearing about it.
Not constantly.
Just often enough that nobody is particularly surprised when he shows up that morning looking as excited as if the entire festival had been organized specifically for him.
Honestly, the weather seems determined to support his enthusiasm.
The sky stretches cloudless above the city, bright and impossibly blue. The sunlight is warm without being overwhelming, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of blooming trees through the parking lot as all of you make your way toward the entrance.
The park is already crowded.
Families fill the main avenue beyond the gates. Children dart between adults with a level of energy that feels physically impossible to maintain. Music drifts from hidden speakers overhead, cheerful and bright.
Somewhere in the distance, a roller coaster slowly climbs its tracks before disappearing into the sky.
A few seconds later, the screams follow.
You find yourself smiling before you’ve even fully stepped inside.
Not because of the rides.
Not because of the attractions.
Because of the people around you.
There’s something comforting about watching everyone fall back into familiar rhythms so easily, as though no time has passed at all. Conversations overlap. Half-finished jokes get interrupted because somebody starts talking before the punchline arrives. Nobody actually agrees on where to go first, yet somehow the entire group ends up moving in the same direction anyway.
Some things never change.
Jimin spends the first ten minutes insisting that one of the biggest roller coasters in the park should be your first stop.
His argument loses all credibility the moment he accidentally admits he’s never actually been on it himself.
The reaction is immediate.
“Wait” Sophie says, staring at him. “You’ve never ridden it?”
Jimin points at her defensively.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It absolutely matters.”
“It kind of does when you’re trying to convince us.”
Taehyung nearly doubles over laughing.
“He’s been advertising this thing for way too long.”
By the time you finally reach the attraction, Taehyung has somehow turned the entire situation into a running joke at Jimin’s expense.
Namjoon spends most of the walk questioning why he continues spending time with any of you.
The ride itself turns out to be considerably worse than advertised.
Violently aggressive.
By the time it’s over, you feel like your soul has been separated from your body at least three different times.
When you finally stumble back onto solid ground, Layla looks delighted.
Sophie immediately wants to go again.
And Dohyun collapses onto the nearest bench with the expression of a man reconsidering every decision that has led him to this exact moment.
“I can still feel it moving.”
“You’ve been standing still for five minutes” Jungkook points out.
Dohyun stares into the distance.
“That’s what scares me.”
You laugh despite yourself.
The rest of the afternoon unfolds with the kind of easy spontaneity that only seems possible when you’re surrounded by people who know each other well enough to abandon every plan almost immediately.
At one point, nearly forty minutes disappear because Hoseok becomes convinced he can win one of the oversized stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling of a carnival booth.
His confidence lasts considerably longer than his success.
After several increasingly embarrassing attempts, a small crowd has gathered nearby.
The employee running the game looks exhausted.
Hoseok remains optimistic.
“I’ve almost got it.”
“You’ve said that six times-“ Layla says. “Because it’s true.” he interrupts.
You have to turn away to hide your smile.
Unfortunately for Hoseok, optimism proves significantly less effective than Taehyung.
After watching the disaster unfold for several minutes, he casually steps forward, picks up one of the rings, and wins the prize on his very first attempt.
The silence that follows is brief.
The laughter isn’t.
Even Jungkook looks incapable of helping himself.
You glance over before you can stop yourself.
He’s leaning against the side of the booth, shoulders shaking slightly as he laughs at something Taehyung says.
The sight catches you off guard for a moment.
You immediately look away.
Unfortunately, years of practice have never made that particular task any easier.
Which is deeply irritating.
The afternoon gradually softens into evening.
Sunlight fades slowly, painting everything in shades of gold before finally surrendering to dusk. Strings of lights suspended throughout the park flicker to life overhead, transforming pathways and attractions into something almost cinematic.
Families begin making their way toward the exits.
The crowds thin and the air grows cooler.
Music drifts more clearly through the evening breeze.
Everything feels calmer than it did only a few hours ago.
Without really deciding to, all of you eventually find yourselves wandering toward one of the older sections of the park.
The newer attractions gradually disappear behind you, replaced by buildings that look decades older. Decorative lamps cast warm pools of light across the pavement while vintage signs glow softly against the darkening sky.
The entire area feels strangely charming.
It’s there that Sophie notices the funhouse.
The building stands slightly apart from everything surrounding it, large enough to attract attention without appearing particularly impressive. Rows of lights frame the entrance, illuminating painted lettering that promises mirrors, illusions, hidden passageways, and impossible reflections.
Sophie stops walking.
You immediately know what’s about to happen.
“Oh, we’re doing that.”
Layla follows her gaze.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Namjoon sighs.
Dohyun groans.
Jimin looks interested.
Taehyung and Hoseok are already heading toward the entrance.
And just like that, the decision is made.
Naturally, Sophie decides all of you have to go inside.
Naturally, nobody manages to stop her.
Nobody seems especially surprised.
The attraction turns out to be exactly the sort of place designed to create confusion.
Corridors twist unexpectedly. Reflections appear where exits should be. Walls seem to shift depending on the angle you’re looking from. More than once, you find yourself reaching toward what looks like an open passage only to discover your own reflection staring back at you.
At first, the group stays together.
Then somehow, you don’t.
The funhouse simply seems determined to separate people.
Every hallway leads somewhere different. Every turn presents another choice. Voices echo strangely through the building, making it impossible to tell who’s actually nearby and who’s several rooms away.
You’re fairly certain Layla was walking beside you only a moment ago.
Then you turn a corner.
And suddenly, she’s gone.
The realization settles in gradually as you continue down another corridor lined entirely with mirrors. The others’ voices have become distant now, reduced to occasional bursts of laughter that seem to come from every direction at once.
You pause at an intersection, studying the two nearly identical hallways stretching out in front of you.
Neither looks familiar.
Neither looks particularly promising.
“You look like you’re trying to solve a murder.”
The voice immediately pulls your attention away from the hallways.
You turn toward the sound and feel a small wave of relief when you find Jungkook standing a few feet away.
Which is ridiculous.
You’re not actually lost- probably.
Jungkook, meanwhile, looks entirely unconcerned by the fact that the two of you have clearly been separated from everyone else.
Then again, he rarely seems concerned about anything until it becomes absolutely necessary.
“I’m trying to figure out where we are.”
His gaze shifts briefly toward the hallways before returning to you.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to know.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“I try.”
A smile threatens to appear before you quickly suppress it.
Unfortunately, he notices anyway.
His mouth twitches slightly.
You choose to ignore that.
Together, you continue forward, picking one of the hallways entirely at random.
The further you walk, the quieter everything becomes.
The music has almost disappeared now.
The sounds of other visitors seem distant.
Even the lighting has changed, becoming softer and less theatrical than before.
At some point, you stop encountering other people entirely.
The corridor ahead narrows unexpectedly before ending at a small door partially hidden behind one of the decorative wall panels.
Unlike everything else around it, the door looks real.
Completely out of place.
Your eyes land on the small handle at the exact same moment Jungkook reaches for it.
“That seems like a terrible idea.”
“Probably.”
The agreement does absolutely nothing to discourage him.
The handle turns easily.
The door opens.
And because curiosity remains one of humanity’s most persistent weaknesses, both of you step inside.
The room beyond is unmistakably a storage space.
Shelves line most of the walls, stacked with boxes and maintenance supplies. A single overhead light casts a warm amber glow across the cramped interior, illuminating dust particles drifting lazily through the air.
The space isn’t particularly large.
Actually, it seems barely large enough for two people.
You don’t fully process that thought before the door suddenly swings shut behind you.
The sound echoes sharply throughout the room.
A metallic click follows.
The kind of sound that immediately feels important.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then Jungkook turns toward the door and reaches for the handle.
He twists it.
Nothing.
He tries again.
Still nothing.
The change in his expression is almost imperceptible.
Not panic- not even concern.
Just enough uncertainty to make your stomach sink.
Because if Jungkook is starting to reconsider the situation…
Maybe you should be too.
And suddenly, the room feels much smaller than it did a moment ago.
The silence stretches for a few seconds.
Jungkook keeps one hand on the handle, testing it again as if the door might suddenly decide to cooperate.
It doesn’t.
“Well” he says eventually. “That’s unfortunate.”
You stare at him.
“Unfortunate?”
“What word would you use?” he asks almost ironically.
“Locked.” you stare at him, suddenly aware of your surroundings.
“That’s a little dramatic.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Dramatic? Jungkook, we’re trapped in a storage closet.”
“We’re not trapped.”
“The door literally won’t open.”
You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.
Stepping forward, you gently push his shoulder.
“Move.”
His eyebrow lifts.
“Excuse me?”
“Let me try.”
“You think I’m not opening it correctly?”
“I think there’s a very real possibility you’re being stupid.”
A grin flashes briefly across his face.
“That’s rude.”
“Move.”
Still smiling, Jungkook steps aside.
The space is already cramped enough without the two of you trying to switch places. You have to squeeze between him and one of the shelves lining the wall, muttering under your breath when your shoulder bumps against a stack of boxes.
“Careful.” he says.
“I’m being careful.”
The moment the words leave your mouth, your elbow catches the corner of a cardboard box.
You freeze.
The box wobbles.
For one hopeful second, it looks like it might stay where it is.
It doesn’t.
“Oh no.”
The first box tips forward.
Then another.
Then apparently every single box on the shelf decides to join the rebellion.
Something crashes loudly beside you.
You instinctively stumble backward.
Directly into Jungkook.
His hands grab your waist before either of you can hit the floor.
The movement stops your fall.
Barely.
A second later another box lands somewhere behind him with a heavy thud, and suddenly, neither of you can move.
Your back is pressed firmly against his chest, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist, the other is braced against the shelf beside you.
The storage room had already felt small, now it feels microscopic.
Your heartbeat becomes painfully obvious, you can only hope he can’t hear it.
For a moment neither of you says anything.
The fallen boxes settle around the floor, dust drifts lazily through the air.
Everything else is quiet.
Very quiet.
Slowly, you become aware of every point of contact.
The warmth of him behind you, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his hand is still resting against your side.
“Well.”
Jungkook’s voice breaks the silence, lower than before.
Much closer.
You swallow.
“Well?”
“I think you made it worse.”
You let out a nervous laugh.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The response comes too quickly.
Too easily.
Your stomach does something deeply unhelpful.
Carefully, you tilt your head back enough to look at him.
Big mistake.
His face is much closer than you expected.
Close enough that you can clearly see the faint amusement lingering in his eyes.
Close enough that looking away suddenly feels like the safest option- for a second, neither of you does.
Something shifts, not enough to name- just enough for the atmosphere to feel different.
The smile on Jungkook’s face fades slightly.
His gaze drops for the briefest moment.
Your heart immediately forgets how to function.
You panic.
You shift slightly, trying to create some distance between the two of you, the warmth of his body suddenly feeling far too overwhelming in such a small space.
Immediately, you feel his hand tighten around your waist, more out of instinct than anything else, as though he’s afraid you’ll lose your balance.
“We’re stuck.”
The realization makes your anxiety climb higher.
Not because you’re trapped inside a storage room.
Not because nobody seems particularly eager to rescue you.
But because Jungkook is everywhere.
His presence fills the tiny space between the shelves, impossible to ignore. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing behind you, the warmth radiating from him, the simple fact that there is nowhere for either of you to move.
You try again, shifting your weight in another unsuccessful attempt to create even the smallest amount of space.
“Stop.”
Your heart immediately drops.
The word is quiet, but there’s a note of warning in it that makes you freeze for half a second before instinctively trying again.
“Y/n, please.”
Your mind is moving far too fast to listen.
The accelerated rhythm of your heartbeat drowns out every rational thought. All you know is that being this close to him feels dangerous in ways a locked room never could.
You move once more.
A sharp exhale leaves him.
“Fuck Y/n- don’t move.”
This time his hands tighten strongly around your waist, steadying you before you can shift again.
You freeze.
Completely.
Only then do you notice what he had been trying to warn you about.
You can feel him everywhere.
His chest, his hands, and the reason he wanted you to stop moving.
“Oh my God.”
You feel him inhale sharply behind you as his hands finally leave your waist, and somehow the loss of contact only makes everything worse. The silence that settles between you is thick with something you refuse to examine too closely, and for one horrifying second all you can think about is how your own imagination- an imagination responsible for years of terrible decisions and even worse daydreams- could never have come up with a situation this absurd.
You want the ground to open beneath your feet and put an end to your suffering.
Slowly, carefully, you turn your attention back to the shelf in front of you, determined to think about literally anything else. The boxes. The lock. The fact that you’re trapped. World hunger. Taxes. Anything.
You open your mouth, ready to apologize for accidentally making the last five minutes the most awkward experience of your life.
You never get the chance.
The door suddenly swings open.
“There they are.”
Relief immediately floods the room, followed by a completely different emotion when you remember exactly what happened just a minute ago.
Your cheeks are already burning.
Your breathing hasn’t fully settled.
Jungkook is standing far too close behind you.
And everyone is staring.
Absolutely perfect.
You suddenly realize how this must look from the outside. Trapped in a room barely large enough for one person, Jungkook standing directly behind you - there is absolutely no version of this that looks innocent.
For a moment nobody says anything. Their eyes move from you to Jungkook and then back again, each of them silently trying to piece together whatever explanation could possibly justify finding the two of you trapped inside what is essentially a glorified storage closet.
You step out first the second there’s enough room to move, grateful for the cooler air that immediately hits your face. Unfortunately, it does absolutely nothing to help with the embarrassment threatening to kill you on the spot.
“How on earth did you guys end up in here?”
The question comes from Layla, though judging by the expressions around her, everybody wants the answer.
Neither of you dares to say anything.
.✦ ݁˖
By the time everyone leaves the amusement park, the initial excitement of the day has faded into the kind of pleasant exhaustion that makes even the most energetic people noticeably quieter. The car ride to Dohyun’s house is filled with lazy conversations and occasional laughter, most of it coming from Taehyung and Jimin, who somehow still have enough energy left to argue over absolutely nothing. The rest of you mostly listen, occasionally contributing before sinking back into comfortable silence.
Dohyun’s house is already glowing with warm lights by the time you arrive.
His wife opens the door before anyone even has the chance to ring the bell, smiling knowingly at the sight of the entire group gathered outside.
“Please tell me nobody got arrested.”
“Not today” Namjoon answers.
“Disappointing.”
The house immediately fills with noise as everyone filters inside. Sophie and Layla disappear into the kitchen to help with dinner, Jimin somehow finds food before anybody else, and Taehyung immediately makes himself comfortable as though he pays rent there.
You’re halfway through greeting Dohyun’s wife when your phone vibrates inside your pocket.
The sight of Yoongi’s name immediately catches your attention.
For some reason, the thought of telling him about today makes you smile.
Maybe because you already know exactly how he’s going to react.
You had assumed that, with time, Yoongi would slowly fade out of your life.
Instead, you somehow find him everywhere. Not physically, at least not as often as you’d like given the circumstances, but his presence lingers all the same.
You excuse yourself from the conversation and quietly slip toward the balcony connected to the dining room, sliding the door shut behind you as the noise of the house softens.
The evening air feels cool against your skin.
For a moment you simply stand there, looking out over the city lights.
Then you answer.
“Please tell me you’re calling because you sensed I was suffering.”
Yoongi laughs immediately.
“I knew something happened.”
“Something happened.”
The amusement in his voice grows instantly.
“Oh, this is going to be good.”
You roll your eyes despite yourself.
“It isn’t good.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
The annoying thing about Yoongi is that he’s often right.
You lean against the railing and begin explaining the day, starting with the amusement park, the maze, and the unfortunate decision to wander somewhere you definitely weren’t supposed to be.
At first he listens quietly.
Then you reach the storage room and the part where the door locked.
And from there the conversation completely falls apart.
“You got trapped.”
“Yes.”
“With Jungkook.”
You close your eyes.
“Unfortunately.”
The laugh that follows is immediate.
“You sound very upset about that.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re embarrassed.”
You groan.
“Can you just go on with the story?”
“I’m trying.”
“You are not.”
He laughs again.
By the time you’ve explained the entire thing- including the rescue, the incident, the concerned faces outside the room and the silent treatment you and Jungkook have been giving each other- Yoongi is openly entertained by your suffering.
“I don’t understand what’s funny.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” you shake your head.
“You spent half an hour trapped in a tiny room with the guy you’ve been emotionally torturing yourself over for years…”
You can feel him smiling through the phone.
“…and you got him hard- I think that’s pretty funny.”
You immediately look around despite being completely alone.
“What the fuck- keep your voice down.” you almost scream even though there’s no chance anyone could overhear the conversation from where you’re standing.
“You called me.”
“That’s not the point.”
A smile threatens to appear despite your best efforts.
The conversation continues naturally after that. One topic turns into another, and before you know it several minutes have passed. Yoongi’s in the middle of complaining about how Sophie and her stupid ideas were still as disastrous as he remembered, when movement behind the glass catches your attention.
You glance over your shoulder.
Jungkook.
He’s standing inside the dining room, talking to somebody for a second before his eyes drift toward the balcony.
Toward you.
Your stomach immediately decides to become a problem.
“Hold on.”
The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
Yoongi notices immediately.
“Oh?”
“I’ll call you later.”
His tone becomes instantly suspicious.
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Is that him?”
You end the call before he can continue.
The balcony door slides open a second later as Jungkook steps outside.
For a brief moment neither of you says anything.
The sounds of laughter and conversation spill out from inside before the door closes behind him once more.
You suddenly become aware that the balcony isn’t particularly large.
Which is a ridiculous thing to notice.
“I haven’t heard much from you lately.”
The comment is casual.
You slip your phone into your pocket.
“Neither have I.”
A smile briefly appears on his face.
Jungkook leans against the railing beside you, glancing out toward the city.
“You know” he says, “normally when people are avoiding me, they’re less obvious about it.”
You almost choke.
With everything that’s going on- weddings, yoongi and hurtful unrequited love, you admit to yourself that you’ve been less… present.
“I wasn’t avoiding you.”
Jungkook turns his head slightly.
The look he gives you says he doesn’t believe that for a second.
You immediately look away.
The city lights suddenly become fascinating.
For a moment neither of you speaks.
The memory of the storage room chooses that exact moment to return, uninvited and entirely unwanted.
Unfortunately, your brain never misses an opportunity to make your life worse.
Trying to distract yourself, you let out a small laugh.
“Well, if I was avoiding you, I guess getting locked in a storage room together wasn’t exactly an effective way to make up for lost time.”
The second the sentence leaves your mouth, you regret it.
Immediately.
Because now you’re thinking about it again.
The silence that follows lasts just long enough to make your embarrassment significantly worse.
When you finally glance toward Jungkook, he appears far too calm.
“It was an awfully… uplifting afternoon, wasn’t it?”
You stare at him.
There is absolutely no way.
No way he just asked you that.
He delivered the question so casually that for half a second you almost wonder whether he’s genuinely waiting for an answer or not.
Then you notice the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The barely concealed amusement.
The fact that he can’t quite look at you without smirking.
And suddenly you realize exactly what he’s doing.
“Oh, shut up.”
That finally earns a laugh from him.
A real one.
“You brought it up.”
“You know that’s not what I was talking about.”
“Do I?”
The teasing in his voice is subtle, but it’s there. Enough to make your face feel warm all over again. Enough to make you want to throw yourself off the balcony.
The worst part is that Jungkook looks entirely too pleased with himself.
For somebody who spent the afternoon trapped in the exact same room, he seems suspiciously unaffected by the whole experience.
Or maybe he’s simply better at hiding it.
Jungkook’s smile softens slightly as he looks back toward the city lights stretching beyond the balcony.
Eventually, he lets out a quiet breath.
“You know..” he says, absentmindedly tracing his thumb along the railing, “sometimes things just happen.”
You glance toward him.
“What does that mean?”
A small smile appears on his face.
“It means not everything has to become a big thing.”
The words are simple.
You look away again, letting your gaze drift toward the city below.
“I guess.” you mutter, still embarrassed.
“I’m serious.”
His voice is light, but there’s something reassuring underneath it.
“We spend way too much time overthinking things.”
For a few seconds, neither of you speaks again.
The sounds coming from inside continue uninterrupted, somebody laughing loudly enough that it reaches the balcony even through the closed glass door.
What Jungkook is trying to say is that life keeps moving, the evening keeps moving.
Not every conversation has to lead somewhere.
Not every moment has to be analyzed to death.
Not every thought deserves attention.
You honesty wish you could achieve that level of carelessness, but the problem is that what happened doesn’t just leave you overthinking.
It sits heavily in your stomach, an impossible weight that follows you everywhere.
Every time you replay it in your head, you’re overwhelmed by a mess of emotions that range from indecently inappropriate to genuinely terrifying.
“Jungkook I-“
Jungkook pushes himself away from the railing.
“We should probably go back inside.”
You mentally groan.
You stay quiet for a moment, eventually deciding that feigning ignorance is the best thing you can do.
“You’re right.”
For a moment, you find yourself looking at him a little longer than intended.
Then you quickly look away before your brain decides to become annoying again.
Together, you head back toward the house.
Neither of you says it out loud.
Neither of you needs to.
Some conversations are better left unfinished.
Some things don’t require explanations.
As Jungkook slides the balcony door open and the noise of the dinner gathering immediately surrounds you once again, an unspoken understanding settles comfortably between the two of you: whatever happened, whatever didn’t happen, whatever either of you may or may not be thinking, tonight isn’t the night to talk about it.
And for once, you’re both perfectly okay with that.
Taehyung catches you the second you walk back into the dining room.
His eyes immediately drift toward the balcony behind you, then back to you.
You already know where this is going.
“Don’t look at me like that, you know nothing happened.”
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“You were about to.”
Taehyung places a hand over his heart, looking deeply offended.
“I was just checking if you’re okay.”
You narrow your eyes.
“I’m somewhat feeling alright.”
He looks at you with initial concern, but when he realizes you’re being sarcastic, his grin widens.
“You’ve been out there for a while.”
You immediately look past him.
“Oh my God- I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Was it a productive conversation?”
“Move.”
“Did you solve all your problems?”
You point a finger at him, “Kim Taehyung.”
He laughs and the sound follows you all the way to your seat.
“That’s a no, then.”
.✦ ݁˖
A few days pass before you see Yoongi again, although “a few days” feels deceptively short when every single one of them has been consumed by wedding planning in one way or another. It seems impossible to escape it lately. Every conversation somehow circles back to the wedding, as always, and every time your phone lights up there’s a decent chance somebody is asking for an opinion you never volunteered to give in the first place. The closer July gets, the more the entire thing starts feeling less like an event and more like an approaching deadline hanging over everyone’s heads.
Including yours.
By the end of the week, you’ve reached a point where hearing the words wedding venue is enough to make you consider moving to another country.
Which is exactly why agreeing to meet Yoongi feels like a breath of fresh air.
The café he suggests is tucked away on a quieter street a few neighborhoods away from the city center, the kind of place you would never discover on your own but somehow feels immediately familiar the moment you walk inside. It’s small without being crowded, warm without being stuffy, and pleasantly detached from the chaos of the outside world. Most of the tables are occupied by people working on laptops or pretending to read books while secretly eavesdropping on conversations around them, leaving the atmosphere relaxed enough that nobody pays attention to anyone else.
You arrive first and claim a table near the window.
Yoongi arrives eight minutes later carrying absolutely no guilt about being late.
“You look exhausted.”
The observation comes less than thirty seconds after sitting down.
You don’t even bother pretending otherwise.
“I am exhausted.”
His eyebrows lift slightly.
“Work?”
You nod, blowing the steam away from your coffee.
“And weddings.”
Understanding immediately settles across his face.
Not sympathy.
Recognition.
The kind that comes from knowing exactly where this conversation is about to go.
Over the next hour, the conversation drifts effortlessly between different topics, sometimes spending twenty minutes on something completely irrelevant before unexpectedly circling back to the wedding once again. You tell him about the latest disaster involving guest accommodations, the endless discussions about decorations, and the fact that Sophie appears to have developed the supernatural ability to become stressed about things nobody else even knew existed. Somehow this evolves into a conversation about the group as a whole, which then becomes a conversation about Jungkook, which inevitably becomes a conversation about the increasingly surreal experience of watching a person you’ve known for most of your life prepare to marry somebody else.
You never phrase it that way.
You don’t need to.
Yoongi is smart enough to understand what you’re actually saying, because somewhere along the way, understanding you became second nature to him.
Either way, he listens more than he talks, occasionally offering a comment here and there but mostly allowing you to ramble until your thoughts finally untangle themselves.
The strange thing is that speaking to him has become remarkably easy.
Somewhere between your first conversation and now, the awkwardness disappeared entirely. There are no expectations attached to your interactions, no pressure to be anything other than yourself, and no complicated history lurking beneath every sentence waiting to make things difficult. It’s simple. Comfortable. The kind of friendship that sneaks up on you before you realize it’s happening.
At one point you find yourself laughing over something completely unrelated, your coffee long forgotten beside you, and it suddenly occurs to you that this is probably the most relaxed you’ve felt all week.
Maybe that’s why you don’t immediately notice the café door opening.
Maybe that’s why you don’t realize anything has changed until Yoongi’s attention drifts somewhere over your shoulder.
The shift is subtle.
So subtle, in fact, that under normal circumstances you probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
But you do.
His expression doesn’t change.
Not really.
If anything, that’s what catches your attention: the complete absence of reaction, the way he suddenly becomes very still.
You frown slightly.
“What?”
For a second he doesn’t answer.
His gaze remains fixed somewhere behind you, his coffee forgotten midway to his lips.
The silence stretches just long enough to make you curious.
Then concerned.
Slowly, you turn around in your seat.
The answer arrives immediately.
Sophie is standing near the entrance.
At first she looks completely normal, one hand still resting on the strap of her bag as she glances around the café, clearly searching for somebody.
Then her eyes find your table.
Find you.
And finally find Yoongi.
Everything about her freezes.
The movement.
The expression.
Even her breathing seems to stop.
The confusion appears first, quick and instinctive, followed almost immediately by disbelief so profound that for a moment she genuinely looks as though she’s questioning whether what she’s seeing is real.
Nobody moves.
The noise of the café continues around you uninterrupted, cups clinking against saucers and conversations carrying on as though nothing unusual is happening, but suddenly all of it feels strangely distant.
Sophie continues staring.
Yoongi continues staring back.
You gulp as somewhere deep in your stomach, a terrible realization begins forming.
Because until this exact moment, until right now, you’ve somehow managed to keep those two parts of your life completely separate.
Sophie.
Yoongi.
The wedding.
The past.
None of it had collided.
Not yet.
Not until now.
Several long seconds pass before Sophie finally takes a hesitant step forward, her eyes never leaving his face as though she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she looks away.
When she finally speaks, her voice is so quiet that under any other circumstances you might have missed it.
You don’t.
Neither does Yoongi.
“Yoongs?”
The single word hangs between them, carrying years of history you know almost nothing about, and the expression that flashes across Sophie’s face makes one thing painfully clear.
Whatever she expected to find when she walked into this café today, it certainly wasn’t her ex sitting across from you.
Yoongi doesn’t say anything, the look on his face tells you everything.
There’s something heartbreakingly sad about his expression, something so quietly devastating that it catches you completely off guard. The usual composure is still there, the calm exterior he always seems to wear so effortlessly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
And his eyes.
God.
The melancholy sitting behind them is so unmistakable that, for a brief second, you feel your own throat tighten.
Your eyes sting unexpectedly- not because he’s asking for sympathy or anything- but because you can see it.
You can see exactly what he’s trying so hard not to show.
You had always known about the feelings Yoongi still carried for Sophie. He’d told you enough for you to understand the situation, enough for you to know that some part of him never really moved on. But knowing it and witnessing it are two entirely different things.
Seeing him like this makes something click into place.
It makes you realize just how similar the two of you actually are.
Beneath all the differences, beneath the sarcasm and the jokes and the conversations that somehow last for hours, you’re both carrying the same kind of wound.
A heartbroken person recognizes another heartbroken person the moment they see one.
And looking at Yoongi now, you can’t help but wonder if he sees the exact same thing when he looks at you.
───────────
author’s note:
thought the secret was going to last longer?
unfortunately for everyone involved, drama waits for no one :P
as always, i’d love to hear your thoughts, and thank you so much for reading <3
➻ authors note: this is NOT a romantic, cute story. please read the warning tags & if you're not into this, don't read it. every person in this story is an adult and into this.
Jungkook notices on Monday when the light in her bedroom stays on until 3:47 in the morning, a dull yellow glow bleeding through the curtains while he sits on the hood of his car across the street smoking cigarettes he doesn’t really want. At first he assumes she’s studying. By 2:30 he’s pretty sure she’s procrastinating. By 3:15 she’s pacing. By 3:40 she’s staring blankly out the window like she’s waiting for divine intervention to descend from the heavens and fix her life for her.
It doesn’t.
Tuesday is worse. Wednesday too.
By Thursday she’s fallen asleep at her desk twice. The second time she wakes with a start, forehead pressed against an open textbook, strawberry gummies scattered across the pages like evidence. He watches her stare at the same paragraph for almost twenty minutes without turning the page once and feels something darkly satisfied settle beneath his ribs because, despite all her dramatic speeches about staying away from him, she’s clearly having about as much success with that as he is.
The first thing that goes is her sleep. The second thing is her concentration. After that everything starts unraveling surprisingly fast.
A missed assignment. A failed quiz. Three coffees before noon. Half a sandwich abandoned in a trash can outside campus. A conversation with her boyfriend that lasts exactly four minutes and twelve seconds before she hangs up and immediately looks miserable afterward.
Jungkook notices all of it.
Not because he’s looking for reasons to watch her. That would imply he’s making an effort. He’s already watching her. The difference matters to him. At least enough that he keeps repeating it.
She told him not to call, so he doesn’t. Told him not to text, so he doesn’t. Told him not to touch her, which is admittedly more annoying, but a promise is a promise. Technically.
The irony almost makes him laugh because she never said anything about looking, and Jungkook has always been exceptionally good at following rules exactly as they’re written.
By Friday he’s bored of pretending this arrangement is working. She’s exhausted, he’s irritated, and nobody’s winning. Especially not him. The final straw arrives during statistics when she completely bombs a question she could’ve answered half asleep two weeks ago. He watches embarrassment flash across her face before she sinks lower in her seat and spends the next forty minutes pretending she’s paying attention while her pen never actually moves.
Something cold settles beneath his ribs. By the end of the lecture he’s already made his decision. The exam is next week, she’s spiraling, and clearly intervention is required. The fact that he misses hearing her yell at him is completely unrelated. Probably.
The sorority house looks exactly the same when he arrives that evening. Warm lights glow through the windows, laughter drifts from somewhere upstairs, and music hums faintly through the walls.
Soomin answers after the second knock and immediately narrows her eyes. “Jungkook?”
He lifts his laptop slightly.
“Tutoring.”
The look she gives him suggests she’d believe almost anything except that. Smart girl. Unfortunately for her, she’s still polite enough to let him inside. “She’s in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.”
He finds her exactly where he expected. Messy hair. Oversized hoodie. Coffee. Dark circles beneath her eyes. The sight of her hits harder than it should. Not because she looks good. She does. But she also looks wrecked.
His fault. Well. Partially.
The realization lasts less than a second before she notices him and immediately looks like she’d rather throw herself into traffic. Much better- he likes the fire in her eyes.
The next hour passes surprisingly well. Minji is funny. Soomin is quick-witted. Neither of them seems remotely concerned about how much information they hand over once they’re comfortable, and Jungkook has never been the kind of person to interrupt somebody while they’re making a mistake.
By the time she’s disappeared into the kitchen to grab something, Minji is halfway through a story about freshman year while Soomin is laughing hard enough to spill her drink. Jungkook waits. Patiently. Then casually asks, “She’s okay, right?”
Both girls glance toward him. “What do you mean?” Soomin asks.
He shrugs and looks back down at his laptop. “Just seems distracted lately.”
Neither answers immediately. Interesting. So he lets the silence do the work before adding, “Everything okay with her boyfriend?”
The reaction is instant; A glance between them- tiny and fast but shared. There it is.
And then the floodgates open. Not because they’re traitors- because they’re worried. Because they care about her. Because neither of them realizes they’re handing ammunition to the worst possible person. Jungkook listens quietly, stores every word away, and keeps his expression perfectly neutral while they talk.
Then suddenly the room changes- the shift happens before he even sees her. Footsteps. A drink placed onto the coffee table. Silence. And then:
“Wow.”
Jungkook looks up immediately. She heard. Every single word. Good. For the first time all week she looks awake. Angry. Sharp. Alive.
Usually he’d love it but the problem is that look: the one she gets right before she does something reckless. Jungkook knows it better than anyone. The second he sees it, he understands two things.
First, she’s hurt. And second, somebody’s about to suffer for it.
Unfortunately, that somebody turns out to be him… The first sentence lands harder than expected. The second is even worse.
By the time she says, “that man can fuck,” something inside him goes completely still. The dangerous kind- the kind that comes before anger. She keeps talking. Keeps smiling. Keeps looking directly at him while she does it. Every sentence feels deliberate. Targeted. Designed.
Jungkook doesn’t move. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t even blink. Across the room Soomin looks horrified. Minji looks seconds away from cardiac arrest. Meanwhile all Jungkook can think about is the fact that she’s watching him more than she’s watching them.
Every sentence is aimed directly at him. Every word like another knife- another stab. Another twist.
By the time she finishes with, “Shall we continue studying?” he already knows two things:
The first is that she’s trying to hurt him. And the second is that it worked.
After your little explosive rant you feel good. Well, for approximately thirty seconds but then the silence of the room sits heavy beneath all of you. Nobody answers immediately.
A beat passes, then another, until Minji finally clears her throat awkwardly: “I’m suddenly realizing I actually have homework upstairs.”
“Oh my god, don’t leave me alone here,” Soomin hisses immediately.
“You started this!”
“I did not-”
Jungkook closes his laptop, the soft click instantly shuts both of them up. Your pulse stutters. Then he looks at you, and somehow that’s worse. If he were angry, if he looked even remotely affected by what you just said, maybe you’d feel better. Instead he just sits there calm and composed, watching you with the kind of patience that makes your stomach turn.
“Five minute break,” he says quietly.
The tone isn’t threatening, but both your friends are already standing before he’s even finished speaking. Traitors.
You stare at them in disbelief while they practically sprint toward the kitchen. The second they disappear around the corner, silence settles over the room, stretching tight between you and Jungkook.
He keeps looking at you for another second before leaning forward, forearms resting against his thighs as his gaze drags slowly over your face. “You done?”
Your stomach flips violently. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
A quiet hum leaves him. “You know,” he murmurs, “that almost sounded believable for a second.”
Heat flashes across your face and you cross your arms. “Maybe because it’s true.”
One side of his jaw tightens. Finally: A reaction. The small victory burns hot and ugly through your chest.
“You know what’s interesting?” he asks.
“What.”
“The details.” His fingers tap once against the closed laptop. “The way you kept looking at me instead of your friends while talking.” His head tilts slightly. “Almost like you wanted me to react.”
You hate how quickly he dismantles you. “I wasn’t-”
“You were.” The interruption is calm, almost casual, which somehow makes it worse. Jungkook leans back again, studying your face like he’s piecing something together.
“You wanna know the really fucked up part?” Your heartbeat stumbles. “I can’t tell if you were trying to hurt me…” His eyes stay locked on yours. “…or convince yourself.”
The sentence lands straight in your chest because, unfortunately, it was both. You look away first. Coward.
A slow breath leaves him before silence settles between you again. Then:
“Did he actually touch you?”
Your head snaps back toward him. The question catches you completely off guard because suddenly the atmosphere changes. Not dramatically. Not visibly. Just enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Because the answer matters, way too much. You can see it in his eyes.
“Why do you care?”
Jungkook doesn’t blink. “That’s not an answer.”
The silence stretches. Slowly, something ugly and bratty wakes up inside you.
Fine. If he wants honesty so badly, he can choke on it. A small smile pulls at your mouth.
“Yes.”
Jungkook stills. “…yes what?” The roughness creeping into his voice sends a thrill through your stomach.
You lean back against the couch cushions, pretending calm. “He did.”
His jaw flexes. “He…” His eyes drag slowly across your face. “…touched you?”
The way he says the word almost makes you laugh, like the concept itself offends him.
“That sounds sweet when you say it like that.” His stare hardens while you keep poking the bear. “First time he wasn’t sweet with me that night,” you continue lightly, stirring your drink while holding eye contact. “But yeah.”
A tiny shrug. “I guess he touched me.”
The room feels suffocatingly warm. Jungkook doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt, just keeps staring at you while something vicious curls tighter inside your chest.
So you twist the knife one more time while smiling: “Everywhere.”
This time the reaction is impossible to miss. Jungkook suddenly leans forward, elbows braced against his knees while one tattooed hand drags slowly across his mouth. He looks like he’s actively trying to contain himself, and for the first time since you met him, the effortless composure slips.
The realization hits like a drug: Jeon Jungkook is jealous.
A shaky thrill runs through your stomach. Unfortunately, he notices that too.
A quiet laugh leaves him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Your eyebrows lift innocently. “What? Talking about my boyfriend?”
The word boyfriend visibly irritates him. “You’re trying real hard to piss me off tonight, princess.”
“And you’re trying real hard to act like you have any claim over me.”
The shift is immediate- his eyes darken, his expression sharpening into something that makes your pulse skip entirely. You should stop, you know you should… Instead, you want more. You want him affected the way he’s affected you.
“You know what else I did with him that night?” The question hangs heavily between the two of you while rain taps softly against the windows.
Jungkook’s expression barely changes, except for the tiny twitch near his eye. You notice it and victory flashes through your chest.
“What?” you ask sweetly, lifting your drink. “You don’t wanna know?”
His jaw tightens even more and for one dangerous second you genuinely think he might snap. Instead, his fingers drum once against his knee before going still.
“Careful.”
The warning slides low and hot through your stomach but instead of stopping, you lean slightly closer toward Jungkook and press your tongue a few times against the inside of your cheek.
A tiny, filthy movement. And completely intentional.
Your eyes never leave his. Jungkook immediately stills. A sharp breath leaves him through his nose and suddenly the victory burning inside your chest twists into something hotter. More reckless. Then, softly enough you mutter:
“You taught me well with the gag reflex.”
The effect is immediate- his entire body tenses beneath the black hoodie. You continue anyway, because apparently every self-preservation instinct inside you died somewhere around the library.
“So thank you,” you whisper sweetly, then smile. “He loved it.”
Silence.
Jungkook stares at you for one long second and suddenly you realize two things at once:
- you won.
- and you may have made a terrible fucking mistake.
Because whatever amusement had been left on his face is now completely fucking gone. His tongue drags slowly across the inside of his lip piercing while he keeps staring at you like he’s deciding between several very bad ideas. The rush of heat that crashes through your body at the sight of it is deeply concerning.
A dark laugh leaves him. Then he leans back against the couch cushions again, fingers flexing once against his thigh. “Yeah?” He frowns. “That what we’re doing now?”
“Well… You don’t own me.”
The words leave your mouth sharp enough to cut and for a second Jungkook just stares at you from across the couch, dark eyes unreadable beneath the dim living room light while rain taps softly against the windows and muffled laughter drifts faintly from upstairs where Soomin and Minji disappeared way too conveniently some time ago.
Meanwhile Jungkook still hasn’t looked away from you once and the room suddenly feels too warm, too quiet, too full of everything neither of you knows how to say without turning it ugly.
Something inside you still twists painfully from overhearing that conversation earlier, from hearing your own best friends casually dissect your relationship like they already knew you were unhappy before you even admitted it to yourself. The hurt still sits beneath your skin alongside the humiliation and every awful thing Jungkook keeps dragging out of you whenever he looks at you for too long, and before common sense has a chance to intervene, your brat lashes out one last time.
Slowly, you pull your phone from beside you on the couch and unlock it with exaggerated calmness. Jungkook’s eyes immediately flick downward before returning to your face. You smile sweetly.
“But my sweet boyfriend owns this pussy,” you murmur lightly while your thumbs move lazily across the screen. “And guess who’s getting a taste of it tonight.”
Jungkook doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t react, doesn’t give you anything at all, and honestly that should scare you a lot more than it does. Instead, the rush of finally affecting him after weeks of emotional torture burns too hot through your chest for common sense to survive.
A dark laugh leaves him beneath his breath while his jaw flexes once, fingers drumming briefly against his knee before stopping completely, like he physically caught himself. “You really wanna do this?”
The warning slides low through your stomach, but the second you saw that flicker of jealousy earlier, something inside you snapped too, now you can’t seem to stop. You lean back further into the couch cushions, crossing your legs, dangerously close to brush his knee.
“What?” you ask innocently, tilting your head. “You jealous?”
The shift happens so fast it steals the breath from your lungs-
One second Jungkook is sitting across from you, and the next he’s above you, your back hitting the couch cushions with a startled gasp as one arm braces beside your head while the other catches your wrist before you can do something stupid.
“Jungkook…”
“Fucking brat-” The words come low and sharp, not loud, which somehow makes it worse. “You wanna make me jealous?” he asks quietly, dark eyes locked onto yours. “Is that what we’re doing now?”
Heat flashes through your chest, and the worst part is that he notices immediately. Of course he does.
A dark smile starts tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leans in slightly, having you pinned beneath him but there’s a devilish glint in your eyes as a small, evil giggle escapes you.
“What…” he begins.
“MINJIIIIIIII!” The scream echoes through the house and instantly shatters whatever was happening between you.
Jungkook freezes before his head snaps toward the stairs. “The fuck…” he mutters.
Voices drift from upstairs, followed by hurried footsteps, and your grin widens immediately. His eyes widen too.
“SOO-” His hand clamps over your mouth before you can finish.
“Don’t.” The word comes through gritted teeth, making you laugh against his palm.
“Mmph.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
The footsteps grow closer, a floorboard creaking somewhere above, and Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut for a brief second like he’s questioning every decision that led him to this exact moment. Then he lets go and practically launches himself back across the couch.
By the time Soomin appears at the top of the stairs, Jungkook is already sitting with his laptop open, shoulders relaxed, expression blank, looking every bit like a hardworking student who definitely hasn’t spent the last thirty seconds threatening your sanity. You nearly choke from holding your laughter back.
“Everything okay?” Soomin calls.
Your eyes immediately find Jungkook’s. His jaw tightens. The warning in his stare couldn’t be clearer: Don’t.
You smile sweetly. “Oh, actually, yes.”
Jungkook’s expression instantly turns suspicious, which only makes this better.
“I think Jungkook and I are done studying.”
Soomin blinks. “What?”
“Done.” You shut your notebook with a cheerful snap. “I’m suddenly in the mood for good vibes.”
Jungkook narrows his eyes but you keep smiling. “Wasn’t there some frat party Minji wanted to go to tonight?”
The room falls silent for exactly two seconds before Minji appears behind Soomin. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Very.”
“You’ve been half-dead for a week.”
“Not anymore.”
Your gaze drifts back to Jungkook and you give him a slow wink. His jaw visibly flexes.
“Let’s go.”
The girls stare at you, then at each other, and then back at you. “…Who are you?” Minji asks, “…and what did you do to our best friend?” Soomin finishes the question carefully and you snort in return.
“New personality,” you reply. “Thought I’d try it out.”
“You hate frat parties.”
“Yeah… but thanks to Jungkook I don’t have to worry so much about the exam anymore, he really took my mind off a lot of things. Helped with the stress.” A snort comes from the couch but you ignore it.
“I want loud music,” you announce. “I want drinks. I want cute boys.”
That one lands exactly the way you intended- you don’t even need to look at Jungkook to know it. You can practically feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees.
Minji looks delighted, Soomin looks concerned and Jungkook looks like he’s mentally calculating prison sentences. Perfect.
It remains perfect right up until a single realization sneaks into your head: If you go to that party, Jungkook is absolutely going to show up. And judging by the look currently lurking behind his eyes, that realization should probably scare you a lot more than it does.
The party is already packed by the time you arrive. Music rattles through the walls hard enough to vibrate beneath your ribs while bodies drift through every room in a blur of flashing lights, cheap alcohol, and bad decisions waiting to happen. Exactly what you wanted. Or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.
Minji disappears almost immediately after walking through the front door, swallowed whole by the crowd, and Soomin lasts maybe seven minutes before someone from one of her classes spots her and drags her toward the kitchen. Somehow, despite arriving together, you end up alone again.
You take a sip from your drink and scan the room. No Jungkook. Good. The strange flicker of disappointment that follows is annoying enough that you immediately ignore it.
The next hour passes surprisingly well. You dance when someone pulls you into a circle near the speakers, laugh at jokes that probably aren’t that funny, and let people talk to you without searching for an excuse to escape. A guy tries flirting with you near the drinks table and manages to hold your attention for almost three whole minutes before you get bored. Yeah, everything feels normal. Perfectly normal.
So why does it feel like you’re waiting for something? The realization irritates you enough to get another drink.
You’re only halfway through it when Minji suddenly appears at your side. One look at her face tells you she’s at least slightly drunk, and judging by the smile stretching across her features, that combination is dangerous.
“There you are.”
You narrow your eyes at her. “What did you break?”
She gasps dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. “Nothing.” The pause that follows immediately answers the question. “Yet.”
A sigh escapes you. “Yeah. That’s about what I expected.”
Minji grins and leans against the counter beside you, stealing a sip from your drink before you can stop her. For a moment she simply watches the crowd, then glances sideways.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“You and Jungkook aren’t a thing, right?”
You nearly choke. The reaction is so immediate and violent that it catches even you off guard. “What?!”
Minji blinks. “You heard me.”
“No!” The answer comes too quickly and far too loudly.
The grin spreading across her face is instant. “Oh my god.”
“Minji, no.”
“You totally-”
“I don’t.”
She laughs. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
Heat immediately creeps up your neck. “I knew exactly what you were going to say.”
Minji looks entirely too entertained by this “So you’re not into him.”
“No.”
“Not even a little.”
“No.”
She hums thoughtfully before taking another sip of her drink. “Okay, but he’s insanely hot.”
The jealousy that shoots through your chest is so immediate it almost makes you angry. At yourself. At her. At him. At everyone.
You force out a laugh. “Then go talk to him.”
Minji snorts. “Please.”
“What?”
“He’d eat me alive.”
You roll your eyes. “Good survival instinct.”
“I’m serious.” She points her drink at you, “That man looks at people like he’s deciding whether they’re worth the paperwork.”
Despite yourself, a laugh slips out- the image is painfully accurate. Minji laughs too before nudging your shoulder. “Still hot, though.”
You hate how much that bothers you. “Stay away from him.”
One of her eyebrows lifts immediately. “Oh?”
“He’s insufferable.”
“That sounded personal.”
“It isn’t.” The lie comes easier than it should.
Thankfully someone calls her name from across the room before she can push any further. Minji turns, waves, and disappears back into the crowd, leaving you alone with the uncomfortable conversation and the even more uncomfortable feelings it stirred up.
You exhale slowly and decide to find Soomin. Mostly because everyone in this stupid house seems determined to vanish the second you look away.
You spot him in one of the side lounges, and for a brief moment relief washes through you before your brain fully registers what you’re seeing. Then it vanishes.
A girl is sitting in Jungkook’s lap.
Not close enough to be misunderstood, not flirting in a way that leaves room for interpretation. She is quite literally sitting in his lap, one hand tangled in the dark hair at the back of his neck while his arm rests loosely around her waist with the kind of casual familiarity that suggests she’s been there for a while.
Your feet stop moving. The room suddenly feels hotter than before, the music louder, the crowd pressing in from all sides until the space around you seems impossibly small.
The girl says something you can’t make out beneath the music and Jungkook laughs, a real laugh that reaches his eyes. A second later she hooks her fingers into the front of his hoodie, pulls him down toward her, and kisses him without hesitation. Like she’s done it before, like she knows exactly what his response will be.
And she does because Jungkook kisses her back after a second. The drop in your stomach is so violent it almost hurts.
Around you the party continues uninterrupted. Music keeps pounding through the speakers, conversations blend together into meaningless noise, people move from room to room carrying drinks and bad decisions, completely oblivious to the way your entire world seems to tilt sideways.
Jungkook isn’t pushing her away. He isn’t stopping her. If anything, his hand tightens briefly against her waist while she smiles against his mouth, and suddenly all you can think about is how natural he looks there. How comfortable. How easy. How familiar.
Something ugly twists low in your chest.
The girl laughs breathlessly when they finally pull apart and leans in to whisper something into his ear. Jungkook lowers his head slightly to hear her over the music and for a second you think that’s it, that you’ve seen enough.
Then his eyes lift and find yours across the crowded room.
Everything freezes. Well, aleast for you.
The girl is still sitting in his lap, one hand resting against his chest, still smiling as she talks to him, but Jungkook’s attention is fixed entirely on you.
He doesn’t seem surprised. Doesn’t seem guilty. Why would he? He just watches. The same way he always watches. For some reason, that hurts even more. Because he saw you, he knows exactly what you just witnessed and now he isn’t looking away.
Your stomach twists while humiliation crashes into you a second later, sharp and immediate, because the ache spreading through your chest shouldn’t exist.
You don’t want Jungkook. Right? You don’t care! At least that’s what you’ve spent the last week desperately trying to convince yourself.
So why does it feel like somebody reached inside your ribs and started twisting?
The girl says something else, but Jungkook doesn’t respond. His gaze never leaves yours, and that finally becomes too much.
You turn away so quickly you nearly collide with someone standing behind you before pushing through the crowd without so much as an apology. The stairs blur beneath your feet. The hallway stretches endlessly ahead of you before you open a door and peek inside.
The bedroom is empty.
At least that’s what you think when you slip inside and quietly shut the door behind you. The music downstairs immediately dulls into a distant vibration through the walls, leaving only darkness and the uneven sound of your own breathing.
Your hands are shaking. God, this is ridiculous. You press the heels of your palms against your eyes and squeeze them shut.
Jungkook can kiss whoever he wants, sit with whoever he wants, touch whoever he wants. None of it should matter. None of it should make your chest feel like somebody shoved broken glass between your ribs and left it there.
Another tear escapes before you can stop it.“Fuck.”
The word comes out weak and unsteady, making humiliation burn even hotter beneath your skin. You wipe angrily at your face, then again, and again, but the harder you try to stop crying, the worse it gets.
You hate this. You hate him. You hate yourself even more.
A floorboard creaks somewhere behind you and your entire body goes rigid. Then a voice drifts from the darkness. “Well, well, well.”
You spin around to find a guy sitting in the desk chair beside the window, one ankle resting lazily across his opposite knee as though he’s been there the entire time. Dark hair falls into his eyes, a crooked grin tugs at his mouth, and a red plastic cup dangles from his fingers.
The amusement on his face deepens when he sees your expression. “Damn,” he says with a soft laugh. “You look more disappointed than surprised.”
You immediately wipe beneath your eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t know someone was in here.”
“Clearly.”
His gaze drifts over your face. Not in a way that feels creepy, but in a way that makes you feel studied, like he’s fitting together pieces of a puzzle only he can see.
Then he lifts his cup slightly. “I almost gave up looking for you tonight, and suddenly the universe sends you right into my bedroom.”
You blink and when he turns his head you recognise him as your boyfriend’s best friend. “Levi?” you ask shakily.
His grin widens. He pushes away from the desk and tosses the red cup over his shoulder without looking. It sails across the room and lands perfectly inside the trash can.
“It’s me, alright.”
You quickly wipe at your cheeks. “Didn’t know this was your room. Sorry, I’ll go.”
You turn toward the door but hand closes around your wrist, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to stop you.
“No,” Levi says calmly. “I don’t think so.”
Your stomach tightens. Slowly, you look down at his hand before lifting your eyes back to his face- something has changed. The easy amusement is gone.
“What do you want?”
Levi ignores the question. Instead, he tilts his head slightly. “Where’s Marc?”
The question catches you off guard. “What?”
“Marc. Your boyfriend.”
Ex-boyfriend. The correction flashes through your head automatically but you don’t say it out loud. You never liked nor trusted Levi and you have no idea if Marc told him about your breakup…
You force a smile anyway. “Uhm… He’s sick.”
“Yeah?”
“A headache.”
Levi clicks his tongue. “Interesting.”
Your pulse skips. “Why?”
“Because when I talked to him earlier, he was driving to his parents’ house.” Levi watches your face carefully. “Said he needed some time at home.” Your stomach drops.
“Try again.” His voice remains light, almost pleasant. “And this time don’t fucking lie to me.”
You stare at him without answering and the smile slowly disappears from his face.
“See, that’s the thing I like about Marc.” He finally releases your wrist. “He’s a terrible liar.”
You rub the spot automatically.
“He called me last week.” A pause. “Told me you broke up with him.” Levi shrugs.
“He was nice about it, too.” The disgust in his voice is immediate. “Said you were stressed. Said exams were getting to you. Said you needed space.”
A humorless laugh slips from him. “Sweet, gullible guy.” You don’t like where this is going. Not even a little.
Levi’s eyes travel slowly across your face. “But we both know that’s not why you dumped him.”
“Excuse me?”
His smile returns, colder this time. “Come on.” You stare, Levi stares right back, then he snorts. “It’s because you’re a whore.”
The room goes silent. For a second your brain refuses to process what you just heard. “Excuse me?!”
“Thought I was pretty clear.”
Your chest rises sharply. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“A lot, probably.” He doesn’t even blink. “But that’s not really the important part right now.”
Every instinct in your body starts screaming:
Run.
Leave.
Get out.
Levi reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone before casually placing it on the desk between you.
“Do you know what I do for work?” You don’t answer. “Campus security.”
He chuckles at the confused look on your face. “We monitor cameras. Mostly because half the student population apparently can’t smoke weed without wandering into places they aren’t supposed to be.”
He shrugs. “The library’s a popular one.”
The blood drains from your face and Levi notices immediately. His smile widens. “There she is.”
No. No, no, no.
“Levi…”
“You like the library too.” His voice remains calm. “Just not for weed.” Your pulse begins pounding so hard it hurts.
“No,” he continues. “You had other priorities.” You take a step backward.
Levi doesn’t move. “Tell me.” His eyes never leave yours. “How long have you been sneaking around behind Marc’s back?”
Your throat closes. “It’s not…”
“Don’t.” The single word slices straight through your sentence. “Don’t insult me.” You freeze.
Levi leans the phone onto the desk.
“Because trust me, sweetheart, I’ve seen enough.” Then he taps on the display and it plays a video of you on your knees for Jungkook.
The room suddenly feels suffocating. Far too small.
Your pulse thunders in your ears. “What do you want?”
Finally. The question you’ve been trying not to ask and the question he’s been waiting for. Levi’s expression brightens instantly.
“Ah yes- there it is.” He takes a slow step closer. Then another. Nothing about it feels threatening, somehow that makes it worse. He’s comfortable, completely relaxed. Like he’s already won.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “it’s funny.”
Your jaw clenches. “Levi…”
“No, seriously.” He reaches toward you. A loose strand of hair slips through his fingers before you jerk away in disgust. His smile never falters. “One video can ruin a life now.” Your stomach drops.
“One upload.” A shrug. “One anonymous account.” Your breathing turns uneven. “Maybe it gets passed around campus. Maybe it doesn’t stop there.”
Another shrug. “Maybe somebody uploads it on Pornhub...”
You feel sick. “Stop it-”
“Maybe future employers find it.”
Your hands curl into fists. “Stop!”
“Maybe your family sees it.”
“Levi-”
“Maybe everybody gets to see exactly what kind of girl Marc was wasting his time on.”
The silence that follows feels deafening. Then, quietly, he continuous:
“Or…” The word hangs between you while Levi studies your face. “I could delete it…”
Your stomach twists- There it is. The real reason. “What do you want?” This time the question comes out sharper. Angrier.
Levi seems pleased. “Use your brain.”
You just stare at him while his smile slowly returns. Predatory. Fucking disgusting…
“I’m a reasonable guy.” The lie is so obvious it’s almost laughable. “You have until Sunday night.”
“To do what?”
“To make me a very attractive offer.”
Your pulse stumbles as Levi’s gaze flicks briefly over your face, then lower, before returning to your eyes. Understanding crashes into you immediately.
Disgust follows right behind it. “You’re fucking disgusting.”
“Yeah.” He sounds completely unbothered. “But unlike you, honey, I’m honest about it.”
You want to hit him. Really hit him. Instead, you just stand there shaking. Levi walks to the door and pulls it open. Music immediately floods back into the room, loud and overwhelming after the suffocating silence.
“You’ve got my number.” His smile widens one last time. “Now get the fuck out of my house.”
You don’t remember leaving the room.
One second Levi is standing in front of you with that disgusting smile on his face, his voice dripping with casual cruelty as he dangles your entire life between his fingers, and the next you’re forcing your way through the crowded house, shoulders colliding with strangers as music pounds through the walls hard enough to make your skull ache.
Your lungs refuse to pull in enough air- very breath feels too shallow. Too small.
You need to think. You need to get outside. You need to get as far away from that room as possible before the panic clawing its way up your throat finally wins.
Someone laughs somewhere nearby while another person bumps into your shoulder hard enough to nearly knock you off balance. The sharp scent of alcohol hangs thick in the air, mixed with sweat and perfume and overheated bodies, and suddenly the entire house feels suffocating.
Then you walk straight into someone.
A solid chest stops your momentum instantly, and strong hands close around your shoulders before you can stumble backward.
“Woah, woah, hold on, princess.” Jungkook. Of course it’s Jungkook.
For a second you simply stare at him. His face blurs around the edges, not because you’re drunk but because your pulse is pounding so violently that it drowns out everything else.
Jungkook’s expression shifts almost immediately. The irritation he wore earlier vanishes.
“Hey.” His grip loosens slightly, one hand sliding higher along your arm. “What happened?”
You try to answer but nothing comes out. The words die somewhere between your chest and your throat because suddenly Levi’s voice is back inside your head.
‘Maybe future employers find it.’
Maybe your family sees it.’
‘Maybe everybody gets to see exactly what kind of girl Marc was wasting his time on.’
Your stomach twists so violently it hurts. Jungkook says something else but you don’t hear a single word. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears.
You pull away from him before he can stop you and push through the crowd again, moving so quickly that you nearly lose your footing.
“Princess?” His voice follows you. You ignore it.
The downstairs bathroom appears at the end of the hallway and you barely manage to reach it before shoving the door open. The second you’re inside, your knees hit the floor.
Then you’re throwing up.
The alcohol. The panic. The disgust. Everything comes up at once.
Your hands grip the toilet seat so tightly your knuckles ache while your stomach heaves again, painfully emptying itself as tears burn behind your eyes.
The party continues beyond the walls. You can still hear the bass vibrating through the floorboards, hear muffled laughter and distant conversations, but closer than that is another sound. Someone’s watching. Waiting.
Jungkook. Of course he followed.
Another wave of nausea rolls through you and you squeeze your eyes shut. Humiliation settles over you almost immediately. Perfect.
Absolutely fucking perfect.
First blackmail. Then a panic attack. Now you’re kneeling on a stranger’s bathroom floor throwing up while your worst possible witness stands somewhere behind you. What a fantastic night.
A faucet turns on, the sound barely registers. A few seconds later something cold appears within your field of vision. You blink- a wet towel.
Jungkook is crouched beside you, not touching you, not crowding either. He’s simply there. His expression is impossible to read, which somehow unsettles you more than if he were making fun of you.
Because he should be smirking, he should be making some sarcastic comment. Should be asking whether seeing him with another girl finally short-circuited your brain. Instead he’s quiet. Observing. Thinking.
That familiar sharpness settles behind his eyes, the one you’ve always hated because it notices things nobody else does.
“You didn’t drink enough for this.” Your stomach drops- of course that’s the first thing he notices.
You turn your head. “Go away.”
Jungkook ignores the order without hesitation. His gaze drifts slowly across your face, taking in every detail: The smeared mascara. The tears you haven’t managed to wipe away. The tremor in your hands. The way you refuse to meet his eyes.
For several seconds he says nothing. Then, quietly enough that it almost gets lost beneath the distant music, he says, “This isn’t because of me.”
The words hit you so unexpectedly that your head snaps toward him. He’s already watching you, really watching.
And suddenly something changes. Not in you. In him. Because up until now he’d been annoyed. Jealous. Maybe even a little pleased. The kind of cruel satisfaction that comes from finally seeing you affected by him after weeks of pretending neither of you cared.
But that’s gone now and and something colder settles into its place. Something far sharper.
His eyes move over your face one more time, and for the first time all night you can practically see the moment the realization lands. You aren’t angry, or jealous. Also not heartbroken.
You’re scared.
And whatever put that look in your eyes…happened upstairs.
The pieces are shifting into place, one after another, and realization settles over him with frightening speed. Until now, he thought you ran because of the girl, because of the couch, because of him. Now he knows better.
His gaze drifts briefly toward the bathroom door, then toward the hallway beyond it, and finally toward the stairs leading upstairs to the exact place you disappeared to before coming back down looking like your entire world had collapsed.
Your stomach drops. No. Absolutely not.
Jungkook slowly rises to his feet. “The fuck happened up there?” You don’t answer.
Your pulse immediately spikes because if he goes upstairs, if he talks to Levi, if he finds out what happened, everything will fall apart. Panic crashes through you so violently that your vision blurs.
Jungkook takes another step toward the door, already investigating, already searching, already looking for something to blame.
“Who was up there?”
The question comes out low and controlled, which somehow makes it worse. You can practically feel the violence simmering beneath the surface, carefully leashed but very much alive.
“Jungkook…”
“Who.”
Your chest tightens until it hurts. The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, too suffocating.
You picture the footage. The cameras. The library. Levi’s smile. The possibility of everyone seeing it.
Your stomach lurches again as Jungkook reaches for the door and something inside you finally snaps.
“Please.” The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it.
Jungkook freezes instantly.
You barely realize you’ve moved until you feel the sleeve of his hoodie clenched tightly in your fist. Your hand is shaking so badly that the fabric trembles between your fingers, and when you glance down, you realize your entire body is trembling just as hard.
Slowly, Jungkook looks down at your hand before lifting his gaze back to your face. Your eyes immediately sting, humiliation burns through your chest, you don’t want him to see you like this.
You don’t want anyone to see you like this.
But the thought of being left alone right now feels so unbearable that it nearly hurts.
“Please don’t leave me alone.” The words come out small and broken, barely more than a whisper.
Silence fills the bathroom. The music outside suddenly feels miles away.
Jungkook doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. For a brief second you wonder if maybe you shouldn’t have said it, if maybe you should’ve just let him go and dealt with this alone like you always do.
He nods and crouches back down in front of you, his expression softening in a way that almost makes your throat ache. “Okay, yeah. I’m here.”
Something inside you finally cracks, enough to break you apart. A shaky breath leaves your lungs, and you hate the way tears immediately gather in your eyes again. You hate that he sees them. More than anything, you hate the overwhelming relief flooding through your chest.
Jungkook doesn’t ask another question, he doesn’t push for answers. He doesn’t demand explanations. He doesn’t even try to pry your fingers from his sleeve.
Instead, he simply settles down beside you on the bathroom floor, close enough to feel real, solid enough to feel safe. His arm slides around your shoulders.
Your eyes squeeze shut, the warmth nearly undoes you.
“Breathe.” His voice is low and steady. You try and fail. Then try again.
Jungkook’s hand moves slowly through your hair, repeating the motion over and over with endless patience. There is nothing possessive about it, nothing demanding. Every gentle pass is simply a silent reminder that he’s still here, that he hasn’t left, and that he isn’t going anywhere.
Eventually your breathing starts to even out. The shaking eases. The nausea settles enough that you stop feeling like you’re about to be sick.
Only then does Jungkook speak again. “I’m not leaving your side tonight.”
Under normal circumstances you would’ve argued immediately. You would’ve told him to mind his own business and go fuck himself. Tonight you don’t have the energy.
The realization seems to hit him too because his jaw tightens faintly before he pushes himself to his feet and holds out a hand.
“C’mon.”
You stare at it for a moment before finally taking it. Jungkook doesn’t let go until you’re standing.
The drive back to his apartment passes in complete silence. For once neither of you says anything.
The city lights blur beyond the windows while exhaustion settles deeper and deeper into your bones, and by the time you reach his building, you feel completely hollowed out.
Drained. Empty. Done.
Jungkook notices. He notices everything. At some point a hoodie appears in your hands. Then a glass of water. Then a blanket. You don’t even remember when he gave them to you.
The apartment feels strangely quiet compared to the chaos of the party. Safe. The realization should probably concern you. Instead it only makes your eyes burn.
You curl up at one end of the couch while Jungkook settles beside you, close enough that his knee occasionally brushes yours but far enough away that you don’t feel trapped.
For several minutes neither of you speaks, then your body betrays you. The next tremor hits without warning. Your hands start shaking again. A sharp breath catches in your throat.
And suddenly you’re right back in Levi’s bedroom.
Jungkook notices immediately. A quiet curse slips from him before one strong arm hooks around your waist and the other pulls the blanket higher around your shoulders. Before you can even think about protesting, he’s guiding you against his chest until your head settles beneath his chin.
His arms wrap around you completely. Warm. Solid. Unmovable.
You should pull away. You don’t.
His hand slides into your hair again, moving with the same slow patience as before, and eventually that steady rhythm begins to drown everything else out. The panic. The fear. The humiliation. Even Levi’s voice starts to fade into the background.
For the first time all week, your thoughts finally go quiet. Sleep creeps in gradually, wrapping around you like something warm and unavoidable, and the last thing you feel before drifting off is Jungkook’s fingers moving gently through your hair.
The last thing you hear is the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.
And somewhere above you, long after you’ve fallen asleep, Jungkook lies awake staring at the dark ceiling of his apartment with his arms locked tightly around you.
Because somebody made you cry, made you panic. Scared you badly enough to beg him not to leave.
And he still doesn’t know who. Yet.
The first thing you notice is the silence.
Not the kind that makes your chest tighten or sends your thoughts spiraling into places you’d rather avoid, but something softer, gentler. The apartment is quiet in a way that feels warm instead of lonely, safe instead of suffocating, and for several sleepy seconds you remain curled beneath the blanket, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling while your brain slowly catches up with reality.
Then everything clicks into place:
Jungkook’s apartment. His bed. His hoodie. Embarrassment immediately crashes into you.
Your eyes squeeze shut as memories from last night resurface one after another, each one somehow worse than the last. You had a complete emotional breakdown in front of him. There had been tears, panic, shaking, and if that wasn’t humiliating enough, a vivid memory of grabbing onto him and begging him not to leave flashes through your mind, making you drag the blanket over your face with a muffled groan.
Fantastic.
Maybe spontaneous combustion is a real thing after all. You reluctantly peek toward the bedside clock and immediately regret it- 10:17 a.m.
Your brows knit together as you stare at the numbers, then stare again. The realization settles slowly enough that it almost doesn’t feel real.
You slept.
Not a few restless hours filled with tossing and turning. Not drifting in and out of consciousness while staring at the ceiling until sunrise. Not waking every twenty minutes with your heart racing. You actually slept an entire night.
No nightmares. No panic attacks. No waking up trembling and drenched in sweat.
The thought catches you off guard. Something uncomfortable tightens behind your ribs and suddenly your eyes sting for reasons you absolutely refuse to examine- that is enough emotional vulnerability for one morning.
Before your brain can betray you by getting sentimental, you force yourself upright and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.
The apartment remains quiet as you make your way toward the bedroom door, cautiously peeking around the corner.
The sight waiting for you almost sends you retreating straight back inside: Jungkook is standing in the kitchen. Cooking.
Your brain genuinely requires a moment to process the image. Grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, a black t-shirt stretches across his shoulders, and his dark hair still looks slightly disheveled from sleep while one tattooed hand casually flips something in a frying pan.
The entire scene feels deeply unnatural- like spotting a tiger filing taxes.
As if sensing your presence immediately, Jungkook glances up and catches you spying from the hallway. The corner of his mouth twitches.
“Good morning.”
You seriously consider backing away and pretending this never happened. Unfortunately, Jungkook notices that too.
“Don’t.”
You freeze and his expression turns knowingly suspicious. “I can literally see you thinking about it.”
Heat instantly creeps into your face. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You absolutely were.”
Narrowing your eyes, you lean farther around the doorway, only for Jungkook to point the spatula at you like a weapon.
“Come sit down before I take that hoodie back.”
Your hands immediately clutch the oversized sleeves tighter. The asshole laughs. Warm enough to be annoying.
“You look funny.”
“You gave it to me.”
“Yeah.” His gaze drifts over you briefly before a grin tugs at his mouth. “It’s cute.”
You hate the tiny smile threatening to appear on your own face. Hate it.
Several minutes later you’re seated at the kitchen island while Jungkook places a plate in front of you.
Eggs. Toast. Fresh fruits & vegetables. Coffee. You stare at the food, then at him, then back at the food again.
He raises an eyebrows. “What?”
“You cook?”
Jungkook looks personally offended. “The fuck does that mean?”
“You just don’t seem like the type.”
“The type to eat?”
“The type to own vegetables.”
His head tilts. “Wow.”
“I’m just saying.” you shrug and a tiny smile spreads on your face.
He lets out a snort. “You little shit-”
The corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself. Something soft flickers briefly across his face before disappearing almost as quickly as it arrived. The memory of last night settles quietly between the two of you. Neither of you mentions it. Neither of you seems entirely sure how.
The silence that follows isn’t awkward so much as careful, like both of you are circling around something fragile and important without quite knowing how to touch it without breaking it.
You focus on your coffee. Jungkook focuses on pretending he isn’t watching you.
For a little while everything almost feels normal. Almost.
Then your phone buzzes. The sound slices through the apartment with surgical precision. Your hand reaches for the phone before you can stop yourself.
The message makes you freeze. Levi.
It’s a photo- just one frame of blurry security footage. The library.
Your blood instantly turns to ice. Beneath the image sits a single text:
Good morning, love. Hope you slept well. Clock’s ticking.
The room seems to shrink around you- suddenly the sunlight suddenly feels too bright. The air feels too warm. Too thin. Too difficult to breathe.
You don’t even realize your breathing has changed until a familiar voice cuts through the panic.
“Princess.” You flinch. Jungkook is already watching you. Every trace of amusement from earlier has vanished. His eyes narrow immediately.
“What.”
You lock the phone. Far too fast, far too obviously. Jungkook notices.
“Nothing.” A beat passes, then another. Neither of you moves.
Slowly, Jungkook sets his coffee down. “That’s a lie.”
Your pulse spikes. “It’s not…”
“It is.”
Looking away is a mistake- the second you do it, something shifts in his expression. Now he knows. Maybe not what, but definitely enough.
The silence stretches between you, heavy and deliberate, the kind Jungkook weaponizes when he’s waiting for someone to talk themselves into a corner.
You stare stubbornly at the countertop. He stares stubbornly at you. Eventually a quiet sigh leaves him before his chair scrapes softly against the floor.
You refuse to look up. At least until a large hand reaches over and gently lifts the phone from beside your plate. Your head snaps upward immediately.
“Jungkook-” The words die before they fully leave your mouth.
He doesn’t seem angry… he seems concerned. And somehow that feels infinitely worse. His gaze moves from the locked screen to your face, then down to your trembling hands before returning to the phone again, studying everything with the same careful focus he brings to problems he intends to solve.
For several long seconds he says nothing at all. Then he leans back against the counter and folds his arms across his chest. His eyes never leave yours.
“Okay.” Your stomach twists at the low, dangerous sound of his voice. The silent threat underneath it. “Enough, princess.”
The softness doesn’t disappear completely, it just shifts. Hardens slightly, enough to reveal the steel underneath. Enough to remind you exactly who Jungkook is when somebody he cares about gets hurt.
Tilting his head, he studies you for another moment before asking the question so casually it almost sounds ridiculous.
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➻ You'll only find my work posted here, Wattpad and on my AO3 blog. I don't give consent for my work to be re-posted (in any language) onto any other platform, even if it is with credit. Thank you.
˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.
pairing: brother's best friend!jungkook × flreader
cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut
>> english is not my first language
chapter 02 | masterlist
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
“Together with their families, Jeon Jungkook and Sophie Laurent request the pleasure of your company at their wedding celebration…”
July 18th.
You read the date once.
Then again.
And somehow, seeing it written down so formally makes everything feel worse.
Not the engagement announcement.
Not the constant wedding conversations filling every single hangout lately.
Not Sophie absentmindedly bringing up cake tastings or flower appointments.
The invitation does it.
Because invitations are permanent things. Real things. They get mailed to houses and stuck onto refrigerators and tucked carefully inside kitchen drawers beside unpaid bills and birthday cards.
There’s no more convincing yourself the wedding won’t actually happen.
“You’re burning holes through the paper at this point.”
Your mother’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
You blink, lowering the invitation slightly while she watches you from the other side of the kitchen island.
Normally she would’ve been excited about something like this.
Weddings are exactly the kind of thing she loves: flowers, music, dressing people up, crying dramatically during vows.
But ever since the engagement announcement, she’s been careful around you- quieter.
Not upset.
Just worried about you.
“I’m fine” you say automatically.
She gives you that look mothers somehow perfect over the years.
The one that says: ‘I know you’re lying’.
“You didn’t sleep much” she says carefully.
You shrug lightly, looking back down at the invitation before folding it closed again. “I’m working today.”
“Mhm.”
Silence settles softly between the two of you for a moment.
“You know” your mother says gently, “you don’t always have to force yourself to be okay for everybody else.”
Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
Because that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Nobody says Jungkook’s name.
Nobody asks questions.
But somehow your mother still sees it anyway.
“Mama—”
“I’m not asking” she interrupts softly. “I’m just saying I know you.”
You look away immediately after that.
The last thing you need at eight in the morning is to cry in your kitchen.
Thankfully, your phone vibrates against the counter before your mother can say anything else.
Ly💛: if you become emotionally unstable at work today i’m charging you extra
You shake your head while grabbing your bag. “I’m leaving before you become wise and emotional again.”
“Too late. I already am.”
.✦ ݁˖
By the time your shift starts, you’ve successfully convinced yourself you’re functional again.
Which is usually enough.
The cafe smells like coffee beans and vanilla syrup while quiet music drifts through the speakers overhead. Layla is pretending to clean tables while very obviously waiting for gossip the second you’re vulnerable enough to provide it.
“You look tragic” she says the moment you walk behind the counter.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I’m serious. Your face looks heartbreakingly beautiful today.”
You stare at her blankly. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
Layla grins unapologetically before handing you an apron.
“You cried?”
“A little.”
“How little?”
“Enough.”
She sighs dramatically. “God. Men are genuinely embarrassing.”
You snort quietly while tying your apron strings behind your back.
For a while, the morning rush keeps both of you distracted enough that conversation dies down naturally. Coffee orders pile up, people rush in half asleep before work, somebody spills an iced latte directly onto the counter and nearly causes Layla to commit murder.
But every now and then your thoughts drift again.
Three months.
Three months until Jungkook stands in front of everybody you love and promises forever to someone else.
“You’re doing it again” Layla says suddenly.
“What?”
“The sad staring thing.”
“I’m literally making coffee.”
“You’re dreadfully making coffee.”
You laugh under your breath, ignoring her.
Around closing time, Layla suddenly drops a stack of receipts dramatically onto the counter.
“No.”
You glance up from the espresso machine. “No what?”
“We are not ending the day like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re one sad playlist away from staring out a rainy window dramatically.”
A quiet laugh almost escapes you, but you manage to hide it behind your cup.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m absolutely not.” Layla narrows her eyes at you. “You’ve been walking around this café looking haunted for eight hours.”
“I have literally been working.”
“You handed someone the wrong order because you were staring into space.”
You pause.
“…Okay, that happened once.”
“Twice.”
You groan softly, rubbing your face with one hand while Layla watches you carefully for a second, her expression softening slightly.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, you know.”
Something about the gentleness in her voice makes your eyes water.
You busy yourself wiping down the counter again. “I’m trying not to.”
“I know.” She sighs quietly before nudging your arm with hers. “That’s why we’re going out tonight.”
You immediately shake your head. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh my God, why are you acting like I asked you to join a cult?”
“Because clubs are my personal hell.”
Layla laughs under her breath before reaching over to grab your wrist lightly.
“Come on. Just for a few hours.” Her tone softens again. “You deserve one night where you’re not thinking about wedding invitations and emotional suffering.”
You groan quietly, already exhausted just thinking about crowded dance floors and drunk strangers stepping on your shoes.
But Layla keeps looking at you with that stubborn expression that usually means she’s already decided for both of you.
And honestly? Maybe staying home alone with your thoughts sounds worse.
.✦ ݁˖
By eleven that night, you’re questioning every decision that led you here.
The club is loud enough to make your head hurt almost immediately.
Lights flash violently across the crowded dance floor while bodies move together beneath music so loud it practically vibrates through your ribs.
Layla, meanwhile, looks completely alive.
“This is fun!” she shouts over the music.
“This is horrendous.”
She cackles loudly before disappearing toward the bar, dragging you behind her before you can escape.
You lean against the counter tiredly while Layla orders drinks for both of you.
Around you, people laugh too loudly, flirt too easily, touch each other like intimacy is something simple.
You wonder briefly what that must feel like.
“Okay” Layla says suddenly, handing you a drink. “New rule.”
“I don’t trust that tone.”
“No thinking about Jungkook tonight.”
Your expression gives you away instantly.
“Oh my God” she groans. “You were literally just thinking about him.”
“I wasn’t.”
Before she can argue further, a voice suddenly speaks beside you.
“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
You glance up automatically.
The man standing there looks vaguely amused, one hand resting against the bar while tired eyes study you carefully.
Dark clothes.
Dark hair.
Pretty in a way that feels effortless.
Layla narrows her eyes suspiciously immediately.
“She would” she answers before you can.
A quiet laugh leaves him.
“Fair enough.”
There’s something unexpectedly calm about him despite the chaos around you. Like the music doesn’t touch him at all.
“I’m Yoongi” he says.
You tell him your name a second later, mostly expecting a polite conversation before he disappears back into the crowd.
Instead, he stays.
And strangely enough, talking to him feels easy.
Not flirty in the exhausting way most strangers are.
At one point Layla disappears toward the dance floor after loudly whispering:
“Please try acting like a person for once.”
“She always like this?” Yoongi asks.
“Unfortunately.”
You smile faintly into your drink.
For a few moments, silence settles comfortably between the two of you while the music pounds around the room.
Then Yoongi glances at you again.
“So” he says casually, “what ruined your mood today?”
You let out a soft laugh beneath your breath.
“That obvious?”
“A little.”
You hesitate briefly before shrugging lightly.
“My friend’s getting married.”
He watches you as you take a sip of your drink,
“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“It is.”
“But?”
Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass.
“It’s complicated.”
Yoongi watches your expression carefully for a second before nodding slowly.
“That usually means feelings are involved.”
Heat rises immediately to your face as you look away.
And unfortunately, that probably answers the question for him.
“Ah-” he says, obviously not shocked at all.
You groan. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“The ‘I think I got it right’ thing.”
A smile tugs faintly at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re in love with someone unavailable.”
The sentence lands gently.
You stare down at your drink for a second before laughing quietly to yourself.
“It gets worse, actually.”
A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “That sounds promising.”
“He’s older than me too.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow slightly. “How much older?”
You hesitate for half a second.
“…Ten years.”
That finally earns a real reaction out of him.
He turns toward you properly for the first time since the conversation started, disbelief flickering briefly across his face before he lets out a quiet laugh.
“Wow.”
“I know.”
“No, seriously.” He shakes his head once, still vaguely amused. “That’s a very specific kind of disaster.”
You groan softly, hiding your face behind your glass for a second. “Please don’t say that again”
“I’m trying not to judge you.”
“You are judging me.”
“A little.”
Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you.
And strangely, it feels nice.
For once somebody is looking at your feelings from the outside, and the world still hasn’t ended because of it.
For a few seconds, the two of you just stand there while music pulses through the walls around you.
Then you glance toward him again.
“What about you?” you ask. “Are you here alone?”
Yoongi hums softly before nodding once. “Yeah.”
“No friends?”
“I ditched them after like twenty minutes.” His expression twists slightly. “I needed a distraction.”
You look at him for a second longer than necessary.
And before your brain can stop you—
“Do you maybe…” You immediately regret opening your mouth. “I mean- if you still want a distraction, we could go somewhere else.”
Yoongi blinks once.
Heat rushes instantly to your face.
Oh my God.
“Not in a weird way” you say too fast. “I just meant- maybe ice cream or something.”
For a second, Yoongi just stares at you.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifts.
“Ice cream” he repeats.
You want the floor to open beneath you.
“This sounded less embarrassing in my head.”
“No” he says quietly, still looking at you with that amused expression. “It’s actually kind of nice.”
And somehow, a few minutes later, the two of you are walking out of the club together into the warm night while Layla sends you increasingly threatening messages from inside.
.✦ ݁˖
By the time the two of you find somewhere to sit, the city feels quieter.
Cars pass occasionally down the street behind you while warm air carries distant music from bars that still haven’t closed yet. The convenience store bag rests beside you on the bench, abandoned after Yoongi complained that his ice cream was melting way too fast.
Now he sits beside you with one arm stretched lazily along the back of the bench, head tilted slightly toward the night sky while he finishes the last bite of his ice cream.
There’s something strangely calm about him outside the club.
Inside, he looked detached from everything around him.
Out here, he just looks tired.
Comfortably tired.
Like someone who stopped trying to impress people a long time ago.
“You know” he says suddenly, glancing toward you, “this is probably the weirdest way I’ve ever met someone.”
“You say that like you do this often.”
“Leave clubs with heartbroken strangers?”
“Exactly.”
Yoongi hums thoughtfully. “Not usually, no.”
A quiet laugh escapes you.
For a few seconds, neither of you says anything after that. The silence doesn’t feel awkward though.
Maybe because there’s comfort in talking to somebody who doesn’t know your life.
Somebody who doesn’t look at you with pity every time your feelings get mentioned.
Yoongi nudges your shoe lightly with his own.
“So” he says. “Tell me about him.”
Your chest tightens immediately.
Even without names.
Even without details.
Somehow, talking about Jungkook always feels dangerous.
You stare ahead quietly for a moment before speaking.
“I’ve known him since I was ten.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows lift slightly.
“Ten?”
You nod once.
“Our families have always been close, he’s my brother’s best friend.” A small smile appears on your face despite yourself. “He used to come over all the time when we were younger. I was kind of obsessed with him immediately.”
“Kind of?”
You roll your eyes softly. “Fine. Completely obsessed.”
“I respect the honesty.”
You smile faintly before looking back down at your hands.
“At first it was just a stupid childhood crush.” Your voice softens slightly. “You know… the kind you think you’ll eventually grow out of.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
The word comes out quieter than expected.
Yoongi watches you carefully without interrupting.
And somehow, maybe because he feels strangely safe, the rest spills out easier than it should.
“I think the problem is that he kept becoming someone worth loving.” You let out a quiet breath through your nose. “It would’ve been easier if he turned into an asshole.”
Yoongi snorts softly beside you.
“But he didn’t?”
“No.” You shake your head lightly. “He’s good. Annoyingly good.”
Your chest aches a little at the thought.
“He remembers tiny things people tell him once and somehow never forgets them. He notices when I’m upset before I even say anything. He takes care of everyone around him without making it obvious.” You laugh quietly to yourself. “Sometimes I genuinely think loving him became muscle memory at some point.”
The night air suddenly feels colder.
“Does he know?” Yoongi asks carefully.
You look down immediately.
“No.”
“Never?”
You shake your head again.
“There was never really a point.” A sad smile pulls at your lips. “Some people are just… impossible to have.”
Yoongi stays quiet.
So you continue.
“He’s older than me. We met when I was still a kid and he was already…” You shrug lightly. “He always felt unreachable somehow. Even when we got closer as I got older.”
Your stomach twists painfully.
“And then eventually he fell in love with somebody else.”
Yoongi glances toward you.
Saying it out loud still hurts.
Even now.
You let out a soft laugh beneath your breath.
“And the worst part is that I can’t even blame her for it.”
Yoongi glances toward you.
“You know her well?”
You nod slowly.
“Our lives have been connected for years.” Your voice softens slightly. “At some point, she just became part of everything too.”
Silence settles between the two of you again after that.
Somewhere down the street, people laugh loudly while crossing the road. A motorcycle speeds past a little too fast. The city keeps moving around you normally while your entire chest feels strangely exposed.
Then Yoongi speaks again.
“You know… I get it.”
You blink, turning toward him slightly.
“What do you mean?”
For the first time that night, his expression loses that faint amused edge completely.
He looks down at the melted remains of his ice cream for a second before speaking.
“The woman I’m in love with is my ex.”
Your eyebrows pull together slightly.
Yoongi lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, though there’s nothing happy about it.
“We were together for a long time.” He pauses briefly. “Too long, probably.”
Something about his tone makes you stay quiet.
“It was one of those relationships where every good moment came with another fight waiting right behind it.” His jaw tightens slightly. “We loved each other, but we were exhausting together.”
You listen carefully while he speaks, watching the way his fingers absentmindedly play with the spoon in his hand.
“We’d break up.” A faint smile appears briefly on his face. “Then somehow end up together again two weeks later.”
“Like a loop?”
“Exactly.” He laughs softly. “Dates, sex, promises that things would be different this time… then another fight. Another breakup.”
The sadness in his voice is subtle.
That almost makes it worse.
“At some point” he continues quietly, “we both realized love wasn’t fixing anything anymore.”
Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
“So you ended it.”
Yoongi nods slowly.
“We agreed it was the right thing to do.”
The way he says it tells you immediately that being right didn’t make it hurt less.
“And how did it go?” you ask softly.
For a moment, Yoongi just stares ahead at the empty street.
Then he smiles faintly.
Except this time the expression looks genuinely painful.
“She moved on…” he says quietly.
A pause.
“I didn’t.”
Something in your chest aches at the honesty of it.
Not because you pity him.
Because you understand.
Completely.
For a while, neither of you speaks after that.
Then, unexpectedly, Yoongi laughs quietly to himself.
“What?”
He glances toward you again.
“It’s kind of funny.”
“What is?”
“We met like an hour ago and somehow ended up trauma bonding on a bench at two in the morning.”
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
“Maybe this was fate.”
“Don’t say that” Yoongi says immediately. “That makes this sound way more romantic than it is.”
You grin faintly for the first time all night.
And strangely enough, sitting beside someone who understands what it feels like to love people you can’t fully have makes the loneliness inside your chest feel a little quieter for once.
For a while, the conversation drifts into small things.
Favorite foods, terrible habits, the kind of music people only listen to alone.
Yoongi speaks calmly, never too much at once, but enough that you slowly begin piecing together the shape of him. He’s sarcastic in a dry, almost lazy way, the kind that sneaks up on you half a second too late. Every now and then he says something unexpectedly funny without even smiling afterward, like humor is just an accidental side effect of how his brain works.
And somehow, despite meeting barely two hours ago, sitting beside him feels strangely comfortable.
The bench beneath you creaks softly every time one of you shifts position while your ice cream is nearly melted now, forgotten somewhere between conversations and confessions.
Yoongi glances toward your cup with mild disgust.
“That looks medically concerning now.”
You look down.
“…I think it’s becoming soup.”
“Tragic.”
A laugh escapes you quietly.
Then silence settles again, softer this time.
You pull your legs slightly closer to yourself against the bench, reaching down for your bag while searching for napkins.
Your fingers brush against thick paper.
And immediately, you remember.
The invitation.
You close your eyes briefly in embarrassment.
“What?” Yoongi asks.
“I actually brought the wedding invitation to the club with me.”
A quiet snort leaves him instantly.
“That might be the saddest thing I’ve heard in months.”
“I forgot it was there.”
“That honestly makes it worse.”
You shake your head, laughing softly despite yourself while pulling the cream-colored envelope halfway out of your bag.
The gold details catch faintly beneath the streetlights.
Even now, hours later, looking at it still leaves that same heavy feeling inside your chest.
Yoongi notices your expression immediately.
His teasing fades slightly.
“You really love him, huh?”
The question isn’t mocking.
If anything, it sounds almost careful.
Your eyes stay fixed on the invitation resting between your fingers for a moment before you answer.
“I think part of me always will.”
The honesty slips out before you can soften it.
Yoongi watches you quietly after that.
Then, after a few seconds, he reaches toward you slightly.
“Can I see it?”
You hesitate briefly before handing it over.
He takes it casually, still leaning back comfortably against the bench as his eyes scan the front once.
His entire expression changes.
Not dramatically though, that’s what makes it unsettling.
His posture stills first.
Then his gaze drops back to the names again, slower this time, like he’s making sure he read them correctly.
A strange silence settles between the two of you.
You frown slightly.
“Yoongi?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
His thumb presses lightly against the edge of the paper while something unreadable passes across his face.
Confusion first.
Then disbelief.
Then something heavier.
“…Jeon Jungkook?” he says finally.
Your stomach tightens instantly.
“You know him?”
Yoongi’s eyes lift toward yours slowly.
And suddenly, the atmosphere changes completely.
The easy comfort from before disappears beneath something sharper.
He lets out a quiet breath through his nose before looking back down at the invitation again.
Then he laughs softly once.
Except there’s absolutely nothing amused about it.
“No fucking way.”
Your heartbeat quickens immediately.
“What?”
For a second, Yoongi just stares ahead at the street in front of you, jaw tight enough now that you notice it even beneath the dim lighting.
The hand holding the invitation lowers slowly into his lap.
“Sophie.”
The way he says her name makes your chest tighten.
“What about her?”
Yoongi rubs one hand tiredly across his mouth before leaning back against the bench again.
And suddenly, every conversation from earlier starts rearranging itself inside your head.
The ex.
The heartbreak.
The woman he couldn’t move on from.
You sit a little straighter.
“…Yoongi.”
He looks at you again then, and for the first time all night he doesn’t seem detached or calm.
“She’s my ex.” he says quietly.
Your brain stops for a second.
“What?”
A humorless laugh leaves him while he shakes his head once, like even he can’t believe this coincidence is real.
“She’s the woman I was talking about earlier.”
Your mouth parts slightly.
No.
No way.
You stare at him while your thoughts crash violently into each other.
Sophie.
Yoongi.
Jungkook.
Suddenly every strange reaction he’d had tonight makes sense all at once.
The way he understood too quickly.
The bitterness hidden beneath his voice whenever he talked about love.
The look on his face the second he saw the invitation.
“Oh my God” you whisper.
Yoongi leans his head back slightly against the bench, eyes closing for a brief second like he’s exhausted already by whatever memories just resurfaced.
“She’s actually getting married” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself.
And somehow, hearing sadness in his voice when he talks about Sophie feels stranger than anything else tonight.
Because for years, in your head, Sophie and Jungkook had existed as something solid.
Certain.
Untouchable.
But suddenly there’s another version of the story sitting beside you on this bench.
One you know absolutely nothing about.
.✦ ݁˖
After that night, talking to Yoongi becomes a regular thing.
At first, it’s occasional.
A random text at two in the morning.
A picture of an ugly drink he claims tastes “like dog shit.”
A sarcastic complaint about work.
Then somehow, without either of you really noticing it happening, it becomes part of your routine.
You start expecting his messages.
He became your friend surprisingly fast.
Yoongi isn’t the kind of person who overwhelms conversations. Sometimes he disappears for hours, then suddenly sends something so unexpectedly funny that you end up laughing alone in the middle of your shift.
Other times, he just listens.
Which feels unfamiliar in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.
Because Yoongi never tries to fix your feelings about Jungkook.
Never tells you to “move on.”
Never gives advice you didn’t ask for.
He just understands.
And somehow that becomes comforting enough on its own.
One night, the two of you end up sitting inside a convenience store at midnight eating ramen while Yoongi passionately argues that mint chocolate ice cream should be considered a criminal offense.
“You’re deeply wrong” you tell him.
“I’m objectively correct.”
“You have the taste buds of an exhausted middle-aged man.”
“I am an exhausted middle-aged man.”
You laugh so loudly the cashier actually looks up.
And for the first time in months, the sound doesn’t feel forced.
.✦ ݁˖
“You seem lighter lately” Taehyung says one afternoon while helping you carry coffee orders out to the tables.
You glance at him over your shoulder. “Lighter?”
“Less miserable” he corrects casually.
You snort softly. “That’s nicer.”
“I’m trying to grow as a person.”
Rain taps quietly against the café windows while soft music hums through the speakers overhead. The afternoon crowd is smaller than usual, leaving the atmosphere calmer, warmer somehow.
Taehyung places a tray down onto one of the empty tables before looking back at you carefully.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t look sad, though.”
The comment catches you off guard slightly.
You busy yourself adjusting the sleeves of your sweater. “What an uplifting observation.”
“I’m serious.”
You know he is.
Taehyung has always been gentler than people expect him to be. Even when he jokes, there’s usually something observant hidden underneath it.
He watches you for another second.
“Is it getting worse because the wedding’s getting closer?”
Your chest tightens quietly.
Of course he’d ask eventually.
You look away toward the coffee machines behind the counter where Layla is aggressively fighting with the register again.
“Maybe.”
Taehyung sighs softly through his nose before leaning against the table beside you.
“Have you talked to him properly lately?”
The image of Jungkook flashes immediately through your mind.
You shake your head lightly.
“Not really.”
“That’s probably worse.”
“I know.”
Silence settles briefly between the two of you.
Then Taehyung speaks again, quieter this time.
“Do you think he really has no idea?”
Your stomach twists painfully.
For years you convinced yourself Jungkook didn’t know because believing otherwise would hurt too much. Because if he knew and still chose Sophie-
You stop the thought immediately.
“I don’t think he has.” you admit softly.
Taehyung’s expression softens.
“You still love him that much? After all these years?”
A humorless laugh leaves you quietly.
“always.”
You stare down at the coffee cup in your hands for a moment before speaking again.
You swallow slowly before continuing.
“And now the wedding’s so close that everything feels…” You pause briefly. “Heavy all the time.”
Taehyung doesn’t interrupt.
“I keep thinking about how after July everything changes permanently.” Your voice softens. “He’ll be somebody’s husband.”
Taehyung looks genuinely heartbroken for you now.
“You know” he says carefully, “I think part of you is still waiting for something impossible to happen.”
You blink slowly.
Because he’s right.
And maybe that’s the worst part of all.
The hope.
Tiny.
Still alive somehow after all these years.
Your phone vibrates softly against the counter beside you, pulling you out of your thoughts.
Taehyung glances toward the screen absentmindedly before looking back at you.
“Is that the guy from the club again?”
You nod once.
“Looks like you’ve found another friend- that’s very good.”
You smile faintly despite yourself. “Yeah.”
Taehyung watches you carefully for another moment.
“Does Jungkook know about him?”
The question surprises you enough that you actually freeze.
“There’s nothing to know.”
And maybe the answer would’ve felt less dishonest if there wasn’t a secret sitting heavily at the back of your mind now.
───────────
yoongi is hereeeee <3
to apologize for this jungkook-less chapter, the next one is going to be fun
Warnings: stalking, dark and possessive Yoongi, intimate scene, kidnapping, captivity
Masterlist
She woke up alone.
For a moment, she didn’t panic. The other side of the bed was still warm beneath her fingertips, the sheets tangled with traces of him, his scent lingering on the pillows. She figured maybe he had gone out to get coffee, or perhaps he was in the bathroom, quiet as always.
Then the memories of last night began slipping back into her mind in scattered flashes.
His hands cradling her face so gently, as if she were something precious. The way his lips moved against hers, slow at first, patient, teasing, before kissing her with a hunger that left her breathless. The faint sting of his possessive marks still decorating the delicate skin of her neck made her shiver beneath the blanket.
A blurry flash crossed her mind:
His lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and husky enough to make her entire body melt.
“Shh… let me take care of you.”
Another memory followed almost instantly: his fingers intertwined with hers against the sheets while he pressed soft kisses down her shoulder, taking his time as though he wanted to memorize every inch of her.
He had been attentive in ways she never expected. Careful. Almost dangerously caring.
Everything about him last night had felt intoxicating.
The warmth of his body hovering over hers. His quiet praises murmured against her skin. The way he watched her reactions so closely, like her pleasure mattered more to him than anything else in the world.
Even now, remembering it made heat crawl up her cheeks.
She buried her face deeper into the pillow with a sleepy smile, hiding beneath the blanket like a shy girl trying to escape her own thoughts. Her fingers brushed absentmindedly against the marks on her neck, and another wave of embarrassment washed over her.
God.
The things he had done to her.
And somehow, despite all of it, the memory that stayed with her the most wasn’t the passion.
It was how tender he had been afterward.
Then she noticed the silence. Not the comfortable kind. The hotel room felt too still.
No phone buzzing.
No television in the background.
No water running in the bathroom.
Nothing.
Her sleepy smile slowly faded. Frowning, she sat up and reached for her phone on the bedside table.
It was gone.
A strange coldness unfurled in her stomach.
“Yoongi?” she called softly, her voice still rough with sleep.
No answer.
She climbed out of bed and quickly pulled on her clothes from the night before, her movements suddenly clumsy with unease as her eyes darted around the room.
That was when she noticed it. Her passport was gone too. The realization made her chest tighten instantly.
Okay.
Not funny.
“Yoongi?”
Still nothing.
She checked the bathroom.
Empty.
Living area.
Empty.
Her breathing quickened.
Then finally the hotel room door opened.
Yoongi stepped inside carrying two cups of coffee and a paper bag stained faintly with oil from breakfast pastries, as though this were an ordinary morning.
As though the world had not quietly shifted beneath her feet while she slept.
He smiled the second he saw her awake.
“There you are.” His voice was warm. Gentle enough to soothe.
Relief crashed into her so hard she almost felt stupid for panicking.
Then she noticed it. Her eyes dropped instinctively to the shape hidden inside the pocket of his hoodie. Her phone in his pocket.
Something inside her twisted.
“Why do you have my phone?”
The smile faded slightly.
“You were sleeping.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He crossed the room calmly and placed the coffees onto the counter with unbearable care, the soft clink of the cups echoing louder than it should have in the suffocating quiet.
Then she noticed the hotel keycard tucked beside her phone.
His pockets carrying pieces of her life.
Little stolen freedoms.
“You don’t need it right now.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What?”
His expression softened immediately at her tone.
“Baby, don’t look at me like that.” he murmured, stepping closer.
The nickname felt wrong suddenly.
Sharp.
Unfamiliar.
Last night it had sounded intimate. But now it sounded like ownership.
“Where’s my passport?”
Silence.
And in that silence she knew.
True fear bloomed cold and sickening through her body.
Violet.
Primal.
“No," she whispered immediately, shaking her head before he could even speak. "No... no, no, no."
He moved toward her slowly.
Carefully.
Like approaching a frightened animal trembling in the corner of a cage.
“I didn’t want to do it like this.”
Her heart began hammering violently.
“What do you mean like this?”
“You were supposed to understand first.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
His jaw tightened slightly at the curse.
“I love you.”
The words hit her like ice water.
Not because they were romantic.
Because of the way he said them.
Absolute.
Certain.
Terrifying.
Her mouth went dry.
“You’re scaring me.”
Pain flashed instantly across his face.
Real pain.
That somehow made it worse.
Because he meant every word.
“I would never hurt you.”
“Then give me my phone and passport back.”
Silence again. Smothering silence.
The room suddenly felt smaller. The walls too close. The air too thick to breathe.
“Oh my god.” She took a shaky step backward. “Oh my god.”
Panic exploded fully now.
This wasn't a misunderstanding or a mistake. This was real and it was happening to her.
No, no, no. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. She thought.
“You’re not leaving,” Yoongi said softly.
“No.”
“You are staying with me.”
“No!”
Her voice cracked sharply.
She rushed toward the hotel door, but he was faster. His hand closed around her wrist before she could reach the handle.
Not rough.
Firm.
“Let go of me!”
“Please calm down—”
“Are you insane?!”
The words sliced through him visibly.
His grip tightened unconsciously.
“You don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t understand!” she cried, struggling violently now. “You can’t do this!”
“I can take care of you—”
“I don’t want you to!”
The second the words left her mouth, something dark flickered across his expression.
Not rage exactly.
Devastation.
Like she’d stabbed directly into something vulnerable inside him.
Her fear spiked harder.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do!”
“No.” His voice had gone eerily calm now. “You’re scared. That’s all.”
“Of course, I’m scared, you psycho!”
She yanked against his grip again.
“Let me go!”
Yoongi pulled her against him suddenly, arms locking tightly around her body before she could escape again.
She began fighting immediately.
Kicking. Hitting. Struggling.
Shoving desperately against his chest.
“Stop! Stop touching me!”
“Please,” he whispered shakily into her hair. “Please don’t do this.”
Tears burned down her face.
“Yoongi please—”
“I can make you happy,” he said desperately. “I know I can.”
“You’re hurting me!”
That made him loosen his grip instantly.
But not enough to release her.
Never enough for that.
She sobbed against his chest, trembling violently while he held her tighter.
And somewhere beneath the panic and horror flooding her body another realization settled in coldly.
Warnings: stalking, dark and possessive Yoongi, intimate scene
Masterlist
Yoongi knew he was losing his mind.
The rational part of him understood that.
Understood that normal people did not arrange private drivers to secretly follow a woman they’d known for less than a month.
Normal people did not use company connections to quietly learn her hotel floor number.
Normal people did not sit awake until four in the morning listening to old voice notes just because they missed hearing her laugh.
But every time he tried to force himself to step back, panic clawed up his throat so violently he couldn’t breathe.
Because she was leaving soon.
Every day, every hour, every minute brought him closer to losing her.
And Yoongi had spent his entire life losing things he loved.
He couldn’t do it again.
Not this time.
Not with her.
She noticed something was wrong the next morning.
At first, it was only little things.
The driver waiting outside her hotel already knew her name before she introduced herself.
The hotel staff started treating her like royalty.
Someone upgraded her hotel room without explanation.
When she texted Yoongi about it jokingly, his response came almost immediately.
Want me to make your whole life easier too?
A strange feeling settled in her stomach.
She stared at the message longer than she should have.
Then typed back:
That sounds vaguely threatening lol
The typing bubble appeared instantly.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Finally:
I’d never hurt you.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
The wording felt strange.
Too serious for the conversation.
Before she could reply, another message arrived.
Did you eat breakfast?
And just like that, the tension dissolved.
She shook her head at herself.
She was overthinking.
Obviously.
The flight got canceled halfway through boarding.
Apparently there was a technical issue.
Then the next available flight was delayed until the following morning.
Annoying, but not catastrophic.
Except when she texted Yoongi to complain about it, he replied:
Good.
She frowned at her screen.
Good???
Means I get another day with you.
Butterflies erupted embarrassingly in her stomach despite herself.
Still.
Something about all of this felt oddly convenient.
Too convenient.
The cancellation.
The sudden delay.
Even the gate change that had happened minutes before boarding.
It all felt… orchestrated somehow.
She stared at the airline notification again while sitting on the edge of the hotel bed.
Technical issue.
The wording was vague enough to mean absolutely anything.
Her mind drifted unwillingly back to the strange little moments from the past week.
The upgraded hotel room.
The driver who already knew her name.
The way problems around her kept mysteriously solving themselves before she even had the chance to stress about them.
And always, always somehow connected to Yoongi.
A laugh escaped her softly.
“No,” she muttered to herself.
That was insane.
Actually insane.
Yoongi was intense, yes. Overprotective maybe. A little emotionally attached far too quickly.
But sabotaging a flight?
That was the kind of thing that happened in thrillers and true crime documentaries, not real life.
By the time Yoongi arrived at her hotel later that evening, she’d almost convinced herself she was imagining things.
Almost.
He looked unusually tense when she opened the door.
His eyes swept over her quickly, checking.
Safe.
Still here.
Relief visibly loosened his shoulders.
“You look stressed,” she said softly.
Yoongi stepped inside the room without answering immediately.
Because he was stressed.
Every second apart from her lately felt unbearable.
Like standing too close to the edge of something catastrophic.
He needed permanence.
Certainty.
He needed her where nobody else could take her away.
And the terrifying thing was that the idea no longer sounded extreme in his head.
It sounded necessary.
“I’m okay,” he lied quietly.
She watched him carefully.
“You sure?”
God, she was gentle with him.
Even now.
Even when she should’ve been afraid.
The guilt flickered briefly through him before obsession swallowed it again.
“You don’t look okay.”
A faint smile touched his mouth, but it never reached his eyes.
“I’m tired.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
He was exhausted from constantly restraining himself.
From pretending his thoughts were still normal.
From acting like he wasn’t one bad moment away from asking her to stay forever and meaning it.
She stepped a little closer instinctively.
Concern softened every line of her expression.
“Did something happen?”
The question nearly unraveled him.
Because something had happened.
He’d fallen so deeply into obsession that the idea of losing her now felt physically unbearable.
And she still looked at him with nothing but kindness.
He reached for her without thinking, fingers brushing softly against her wrist.
“Let me stay tonight.”
Her breath caught softly.
The words weren’t forceful.
If anything, they sounded dangerously close to pleading.
“Yoongi…”
His gaze dropped for a second before returning to hers.
“Please.”
That was what undid her.
Not the request itself.
The exhaustion behind it.
He looked exhausted.
Dark circles under his eyes. Shoulders tense. Mouth pressed tightly together like he was holding himself back from something.
Her expression softened immediately.
That night should’ve warned her.
Looking back later, she would realize there had been signs everywhere.
The way Yoongi barely let go of her once she let him in her hotel room. The way his hand constantly rested somewhere on her body, her waist, her thigh, her wrist, as if reassuring himself she was real.
The way he kept asking strange questions.
“Have you dated a lot?”
“Would you ever move to Korea?”
“Do your parents expect you home immediately?”
“What would happen if you disappeared for a while?”
That last one made her laugh nervously.
Yoongi didn’t.
“Hypothetically,” he added quietly.
She studied him carefully.
“Why would I disappear?”
His gaze dropped briefly.
“You tell me.”
A chill crept subtly down her spine.
But then he kissed her.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And her thoughts dissolved completely.
Because kissing Min Yoongi felt dangerous in the most intoxicating way imaginable.
He kissed like he meant it.
Like he was starving.
His hands trembled slightly against her waist as he pulled her into his lap on the hotel bed, breathing her in like he was addicted already.
Maybe he was.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against her mouth.
Heat rushed through her body.
“Yoongi…”
“I can’t think straight around you anymore.”
There was something almost frightening about the honesty in his voice.
But before she could process it, he was kissing her again, deeper this time, one hand sliding into her hair.
He slowly moved to her neck, tilting her head to the side to gain more access to her sensitive skin. She felt him leaving open mouthed kisses and soft bites all along the area, as if claiming his territory, declaring his ownership.
He laid her on the bed and got on top of her carefully. Too carefully, like she was a porcelain doll and could break any time, if he wasn't tender.
She stared into his dark eyes which were staring right back into her soul. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest. Never could she have imagined the night would unravel like this.
Yet here she was, writhing under Min Yoongi, feeling her cheeks heat up from his attention.
She could feel herself moistening down in her panties just by the closeness and intimacy of him. He already held so much power over her that it was terrifying.
He leaned down and started kissing her again. While she was getting all distracted by the movement of his lips all over her face, chin, lips and neck, he took the opportunity to also undress her slowly.
She didn't even realize when she was laying bare under him except her panties, while he was still fully dressed.
"Yoongi..."
"Shh... Let me have you."
And she did.
Despite every warning bell buried deep inside her she melted into him willingly.
dededos
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