we call this shit normal - jungkook
📂summary: Kerosene. Dopamine. Chemical-induced. Fantasy and fame, the things you chose. Jungkook was never going to love you in a way that felt safe. And you were never going to walk away when it stopped feeling real. Somewhere between obsession and control, between love and something far worse, you both decided to call it normal.
based off the song "Normal" by BTS (Stream ARIRANG!!)
wc: 2766
masterlist
requests open ⋆⭒˚.⋆
You stopped trying to figure out when it went wrong.
There was no clean break, no moment where you could say this is where you should have walked away. It bled into your life slowly, quietly, until it was just there. In everything. In the way you breathed, in the way you thought, in the way your body reacted to him before your brain could catch up.
Kerosene. Dopamine. Chemical induced.
That is what this is. That is what he is.
Addictive. Flammable. Impossible to put out once it catches.
The warehouse is loud tonight. Louder than usual. Engines revving somewhere deeper inside, metal clanging, voices overlapping into something chaotic and restless. The kind of noise that settles into your bones and makes it easier not to think too hard about anything.
That is why you stay here.
That is why all of them do.
Namjoon is across the room, sleeves rolled up, leaning over a spread of maps and timesheets with two other drivers. He looks calm like he always does, but you know better. He runs this whole thing like a business, like something structured and controlled, but even he cannot pretend it is not dangerous. Not when there is this much money involved. Not when there are people who would happily see all of them crash and burn.
Yoongi is under the hood of one of the cars, hands black with grease, expression unreadable. He barely looks up anymore when you walk in. You have been around too long for that. He knows exactly what you are to Jungkook, even if nobody ever says it out loud.
Hoseok is pacing near the entrance, restless energy barely contained, checking his phone every few seconds, probably tracking who has arrived and who has not. He jokes, he laughs, he keeps things light, but you have seen the way his face changes when a race goes wrong.
Jimin is leaned against the side of one of the cars, cigarette burning low between his fingers, watching everything with that unreadable expression he gets when he is thinking too much and saying nothing at all. He does not involve himself unless he has to, but when he does, it is quick and precise, like he has already mapped out ten different outcomes and chosen the one that causes the least mess. People underestimate him. They always do. You have seen what happens when they realise too late that they should not have.
Taehyung is nearby, sitting on the hood of a car like he does not have a care in the world, but his eyes track everything. Every driver, every movement, every shift in energy. He plays it off well, all easy smiles and lazy posture, but there is something sharp underneath it. Something that makes people hesitate when they get too close. He is not as hands-on as the others, but he knows exactly what is going on at all times, and somehow that feels more dangerous.
Seokjin is the only one who still tries to keep some sense of order in all of this, even if it is pointless. He is arguing with someone near the entrance about timing, about rules that no one actually follows, about keeping things from spiralling too far out of control. He tells himself it is about safety, about making sure no one gets seriously hurt, but you think it is more than that. You think he just needs to believe there is still a line somewhere, even if everyone else has already crossed it.
They are all part of this.
Every single one of them.
And so are you.
Your phone buzzes beside you on the concrete floor.
You do not look at it.
You do not need to.
The name has already burned itself into your brain from the last ten notifications.
You know you should answer it. You know you should shut it down properly, cleanly, before it turns into something worse.
But you don’t.
Because some part of you already knows what is about to happen.
And some part of you is waiting for it.
The air shifts.
Jungkook is not in your line of sight yet, but that does not mean he is not there.
You never need to see him to know.
There is always a shift when he is close. Subtle, but enough. Conversations tighten, people become more aware of themselves, like they are waiting for something without realising it. Not out of fear exactly, but out of respect for what he is capable of when he decides something matters.
He does not run things like Namjoon does. He does not fix things like Yoongi or keep people in line like Seokjin tries to. He does not manage the chaos like Hoseok, choose the outcome like Jimin, or observe like Taehyung.
Jungkook ends things.
That is his role, whether anyone says it out loud or not.
Fastest on the track. Most reckless when it counts. The one they send when something needs to be handled without hesitation.
You have seen it before. The way he moves when he is focused, the way everything else disappears for him until there is only one outcome left. It is not something you can talk him out of. It is not something anyone can stop once it starts.
And somehow, somewhere along the way, you became one of those things that matters.
That is why it feels like this.
Not sudden.
Not surprising.
Just inevitable.
It always does before he gets close.
It is not something you can explain, just something you feel. The noise does not stop, the room does not go quiet, but something changes. Like everything tilts slightly in his direction.
You don’t move.
You don’t look up.
And then his hand is on your face.
Rough.
Familiar.
Possessive in a way that makes your chest tighten before you can stop it.
“There you are.”
His voice is low, controlled, and that is worse than if he was yelling. You have seen him angry. You have seen him lose it. This version of him is sharper. Quieter. The kind that thinks before it acts, and still chooses to act anyway.
You let him tilt your head up. You let him look at you like that.
“Hey.” you say softly.
It is not meant to sound soft. It just comes out that way.
His jaw tightens almost immediately.
“Don’t do that.”
You blink. “Do what?”
“Act like you did not just ignore me.”
Your stomach drops slightly.
So he had been calling.
Of course he had.
You swallow, keeping your voice steady. “I didn’t see it.”
“Bullshit.”
The word is immediate, flat, like he has already decided he is right and you are not worth the effort of pretending otherwise.
His hand slides down from your jaw to your neck, fingers curling just enough to hold you there. Not choking. Not hurting. Just enough to remind you that he can.
“You think I am fucking stupid?” he asks quietly.
You shake your head, just slightly. “No.”
“Then don’t lie to me.”
Your phone buzzes again.
The sound cuts through everything, loud and sharp, and his grip tightens in response. His eyes flick down to it, then back to you, and something dark settles in his expression.
“Who is it.”
It is not a question.
You could lie again. You could say it is nothing, that it does not matter, that he is overreacting.
But you are too tired for that tonight.
“Someone from uni,” you say. “Group work.”
He stares at you for a second, completely still.
Then he laughs.
It is not a nice sound.
“You really think I can’t tell the difference,” he says, stepping closer, forcing you back half a step without even trying. “You think I don’t know when someone is trying to get your attention?”
You don’t answer.
Because he is right.
Because the messages have not been about group work for a while now.
Because you should have shut it down days ago and you did not.
His thumb presses into your throat, just slightly.
“Say his name.”
You hesitate.
That is all it takes.
His expression shifts, something in it snapping into place.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “That is what I thought.”
Your chest feels tight, your thoughts slow and heavy, like everything is moving through water. You know this pattern. You know where this goes.
Run away, out of sight, do not know what you want.
You have thought it a hundred times.
You have never acted on it.
“Jungkook,” you say quietly. “It is not like that.”
His eyes darken immediately.
“It is exactly like that.”
“No,” you insist, but there is no bite in it, no real conviction. “He just keeps texting.”
“And you keep letting him.”
The words hit harder than you expect.
Because they are true.
Because you have not stopped it.
Because some part of you wanted to see how far Jungkook would go.
That part of you makes you sick.
His grip shifts, sliding from your throat to your jaw again, tilting your head back just enough that you have to look at him.
“You are mine,” he says, quieter now, but more dangerous for it. “You don’t get to play stupid about that.”
There is no softness in it. No hesitation. Just certainty.
And that is what traps you.
Not the way he says it.
The way he believes it.
Kerosene. Dopamine. Chemical induced.
You are not sure when it stopped feeling wrong.
You are not sure if it ever did.
“I know.” you whisper.
His expression flickers, just for a second.
Like he was not expecting you to say that.
Like he wanted you to fight him.
You do not.
You are too far gone for that.
His hand loosens slightly, not letting go, just adjusting. “Then act like it.”
Your phone buzzes again.
This time, he does not just look at it.
He reaches down and picks it up.
Your stomach drops immediately.
“Jungkook.” you say, sharper now.
He ignores you.
Of course he does.
His eyes scan the screen, taking in the name, the messages stacked one after the other. His jaw clenches harder with every second.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” he mutters.
You step forward, reaching for it. “Give it back.”
He pulls it out of your reach easily.
“How long,” he asks, not looking at you.
“It is not like that,” you repeat, weaker this time.
“How long,” he says again, louder now.
The room has shifted around you. You can feel it. Conversations have quieted slightly, attention drifting in your direction even if no one is openly staring.
Namjoon glances up briefly, eyes flicking between you and Jungkook, calculating. Yoongi does not move, but you know he is listening. Hoseok has stopped pacing.
They all know what this is.
They all know how this ends.
“A few days,” you admit.
That is enough.
It always is.
Jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, pacing once like he is trying to burn off the sudden spike of anger.
“You let this go on for a few days,” he repeats.
“I was going to deal with it.”
“When.”
“I don’t know.”
He laughs again, harsher this time.
“Exactly.”
There is a moment where you think he might throw your phone, smash it against the ground just to prove a point.
He does not.
Instead, he shoves it back into your hand.
“Block him.”
You stare at him.
“What.”
“Block him,” he repeats, slower now, like he is talking to someone who is not understanding basic instructions. “Right now.”
You hesitate.
Not because you want to keep talking to the other guy.
Because you hate that he is telling you to do it.
Because you hate how easy it would be to just listen.
Because you hate how much you already have.
His expression darkens immediately.
“Do not,” he says quietly, “make me deal with it myself.”
Your chest tightens.
You know exactly what that means.
You have seen what happens when he decides to deal with things himself.
It is not pretty.
It is not controlled.
It is not something you can undo.
“Okay,” you say quickly, your fingers already moving on the screen. “Okay, I will.”
You block the number.
You show him.
His eyes track the movement, watching carefully, making sure you actually do it.
Only when it is done does he relax slightly.
Not much.
Just enough.
“Good.” he mutters.
The tension in the room eases, just a fraction. Conversations slowly pick back up, engines revving again in the distance. The moment passes for everyone else.
Not for you.
Never for you.
Jungkook steps closer again, his hand coming back to your face, thumb brushing over your cheek like nothing just happened.
“You drive me fucking insane.” he says under his breath.
You let out a shaky breath. “You think you are easy to deal with.”
Something almost like a smile tugs at his lips.
Almost.
Then it fades.
“Don’t start.” he says.
“I am not starting anything,” you reply quietly. “I am just saying.”
He studies you for a second, like he is trying to figure out if you are pushing him again or if you are being honest.
Maybe you are not even sure yourself.
His forehead presses briefly against yours, his grip tightening just slightly again.
“Show me hate, show me love,” he murmurs, almost absentmindedly, like the words have been stuck in his head all night. “Make me bulletproof.”
Your chest tightens at that.
Because that is exactly what this feels like.
Not love.
Not really.
Something harsher.
Something that hurts and heals at the same time.
“Is that what this is,” you ask quietly. “To you.”
He does not answer straight away.
For a second, you think he might not answer at all.
Then he exhales, slow and heavy.
“I don’t know what the fuck this is,” he admits. “But I know I am not letting anyone else have you.”
It is not romantic.
It is not soft.
It is honest.
And somehow that makes it worse.
If everything was just happy, that would not be real.
You lean into him slightly before you can stop yourself, your hand gripping his shirt, grounding yourself in something solid.
“You are going to ruin me.” you say, not accusing, not dramatic. Just stating a fact.
His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you there.
“Too late” he says.
You almost laugh.
Because he is right.
Because you are already there.
Because there is no version of this where you walk away clean.
His lips press against yours, rough and claiming, like he is reminding you exactly who you belong to. It is not gentle. It never is. It is possession, it is control, it is something that settles deep in your chest and refuses to let go.
You kiss him back anyway.
Of course you do.
You always do.
Wish you had a minute just to turn it off.
But you do not.
Neither of you do.
When he pulls back, his eyes are still dark, still locked on you like he is making sure you are still here, still his, still exactly where he left you.
“Don’t do that again.” he says.
You nod.
You mean it.
At least, you think you do.
His thumb brushes your cheek again, softer this time, like a reward, like you have done something right.
Around you, the warehouse continues like nothing happened. Engines rev, voices rise, another race gets called. Namjoon is already back to work, Yoongi back under the hood, Hoseok shouting something at a driver near the entrance.
Life goes on.
This goes on.
Everything keeps moving like it always does.
Normal and special, they are just lines.
You do not know which side of it you are on anymore.
Jungkook’s hand slips from your face, but he does not step away completely. He never really does.
“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the cars. “Race is starting.”
You follow him without thinking.
You always do.
Because this is what you have now.
This chaos.
This noise.
This thing that feels like everything and nothing all at once.
Kerosene. Dopamine. What do you have to do.
You still do not know.
Jungkook glances back at you once, just to make sure you are there.
You are.
You always are.
He smirks slightly, something dark and satisfied settling in his expression.
“Yeah,” he mutters.
And you already know what he is going to say.
“We call this shit normal.”
as soon as I heard normal I was like wait omg this would work perfectly for the JK that I portray on my blog so near 7 hours later here is the fic!! please show her some love! thinking of turning her into an actual fic because I have so many ideas for this specific dark toxic JK! Stay tuned for some more pics based of ARIRANG songs! anyway ARIRANG album of the year!