Synopse: Jeon Jungkook want to take a rest, a little rest from his fast moving life. To find where his peace belongs, to find where he belongs.
Genre: friends to lover? Angst,
Pairing: idol jungkook × oc
Standing in front of his hometown door, he felt his eyes droopy, he felt his heart beat decrease, he felt he needed to sit on the floor and sleep in the presence of his home.
Jungkook counts his breath when he tries to call his mother. It was six breaths, when Jungkook lifted his fist to beat against the wooden door. It was the seventh breath when Jungkook held his mother's eyes to his, it was whimpers and lots of sniffing when jungkook cried in her arms.
He unfolded the hoodie and put it on the rack before closing the door and putting his bag on top of the wardrobe before going inside the bathroom, the itching and irritated feeling from his skin soothing when the cold water washed it down.
His hand continuously rubbed his hair with a towel as he sat on his bed, sighing as he looked around, the colour, the figures, the book, and the collection all welcomed him in his room. Laying on bed and throwing the wet towel on the chair, he doesn't feel the need to put his clothes on as he is going to sleep now, getting inside the comforter he closed his bedside lamp and let the dark consume him.
Tired from traveling, his mind allowed him to sleep and for the first time in a long time Jungkook slept throughout the night.
Groaning softly, he shifted in the bed cover and peeled one eye open. Sunlight spilled through the open curtains onto his pillow, lightning the dimensions and color of the room. He rubbed his puffy eyes.
"What place is it?” He asked through a yawn.
When no one responded he opened his eyes fully this time, he shot upright at the sight of his baby pictures. Memories of last night flooded his mind, he exhaled in familiarity.
Jungkook rubbed his hair and stretched his upper body while sitting inside his cover. After swinging his leg over the side, he dragged his naked body into the bathroom to wash himself. He washed his face with cold water and brushed his teeth. After putting on some cream he brushes his hair and closes the door, putting a boxer, loose jeans and a cotton t-shirt he makes himself more presentable before exiting his room.
He padded down the stairs, he paused at the smell of banana bread and smiled, the tired weight he had been feeling was left behind when he spotted his mother in the kitchen.
Being her own designer, his mother decorated the house in different musical notes coming together on the sheet of page: wooden surfaces, green carved cupboard, hidden drawers and shelves. With the pieces of furniture no one saw, to the flowers of the garden everyone adorned, his mother made this house a home where he felt like his older self at home and not Jungkook on stage.
“Morning, mum.” He kissed her cheeks whe he stand beside her, his mother smile and trace his puffy cheeks, “morning, sleep well ?” She turned back to the brewing Stew.
“Yes. Thank you for cleaning my room.” Jungkook smile in gratitude and go over to the one of drawers to open it, “always dear.” He take out cutlery and set it on the table, “where is everyone?” His curious doe eyes didn't find anyone.
“Father was on trip with his friend, for related to some work and your brother had some work with his colleagues, so it's just me and you on your welcome back breakfast.” She explain while pouring stew on the bowls.
“ I want my time with my mother alone anywa.” He mumbled without intention to hear as he poured the water in glass while his mother brought the side dishes on the table, “what do you want to eat for lunch?” She asked.
Jungkook laughed as he picked the main dish, “I haven't even finished the breakfast, mum.”
They laughed and chatted, joked and teased. His mother listens about the story from his tour and he listens to their relative's story he had missed during his years in the group. It was long, and Jungkook felt that now he knew everyone's backstory.
“I'm going to walk around for a bit, please don't wait for my at lunch.” His mother nodded her head as she drank the water. They cleaned the table and Jungkook insisted on cleaning the utensils.
He take a quick shower in his room and wear fresh pair of hoodie and jeans after brushing his hair and putting a sunscreen on his face he grabbed his phone and put it inside his pocket with his card and key to some cashes, wearing a face mask he closed his room door.
Telling his mother about the time his returning, he closed the main front door, trekked past the beautiful tree in his front yard. He twist knob on garage door and stepped inside.
His eyes finding his black bike beside the his parent car and grabbed the key in his hand, and walk over it.
Jungkook chuckled when he find his bike cleaned as well, he unlocked his bike and take it outside from his garage, after closing the door he climbed on it and put his helmet on, he roared it life, laugh at the feeling of engene buzz and glide it on the road to take a look of his hometown, afterall Jeon Jungkook came back to his home, to Busan.
summary: You and Jimin have been together for three beautiful years now, and tonight he's acting completely suspicious. He's got that specific smile on his face, he's secretive and his hand hasn't let go of yours the entire drive. What starts as a simple anniversary dinner leads you to a rooftol straight out of a dream with fairy lights overhead, rose petals at your feet and Seoul glittering in the night. And you begin to understand that tonight was not just about the dinner after all.
trigger warning: happy crying, mild swearing, mentions of seperation, making-out, semi-public display of affection, exhaustion/overworking
masterlist
The gentle hum of the car was the only sound breaking the comfortable silence you both created inside this warm cocoon, well, minus the sound of the radio playing a low jazz tune Taehyung had recommended to Jimin. Both you and Jimin liked it, though. The city lights outside the window blurred into streaks of gold and white as you drove, casting fleeting reflections across his face that just made him look even more ethereal than he already was.
His breathtaking features carried the calmness you’ve witnessed time and time before, yet the corner of his lips betrayed him. Those soft lips that yours remember from so many make-out sessions were now curled upward, betraying that he carried a secret he clearly enjoyed keeping from you.
You leaned softly toward him, studying how his fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel in time with the music, how his eyes occasionally flickered your way before darting back to the road. It reminded you of that shy boy you used to know when you two first started dating. For a man who flirted on stage for a living, he’s quite shy.
Curiosity finally got the better of you, though. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” You asked, voice playful, but demanding of answers. “You’ve been so tight-lipped all evening, Mr. Park.” You nudge his arm very lightly, mindful that he’s driving.
He chuckled immediately and briefly met your eyes again before turning back to the road as he’d done a handful of times during the drive. “Where’s the fun in that, jagiya? It’s our anniversary, and I wanted to make it special. A surprise, just for you.”
Then he reached over, his warm hand finding yours on the top of your lap, and interlaced your fingers together, giving them a tender squeeze. It was a simple gesture, done a thousand times before during your quality time together, but it never failed to spread warmth through your whole body. It seeped into your chest, right where your heart beat, and lingered there. You glanced down at your interlocked hands, watching his thumb brush over your skin softly, and smiled to yourself.
The car went on for a little while longer, while you watched the city lights of Seoul twinkle like scattered diamonds as dusk truly settled over the skyline. The glow of neon signs danced across the windshield, continuing to paint fleeting colors on your faces as Jimin drove through the quieter streets. The hum of the city faded bit by bit, slowly replaced by the gentle rhythm of tires gliding over smooth pavement and the occasional flicker of passing headlights.
You leaned closer to the window now, trying to catch any hint of where you were headed, but Jimin had chosen a route that gave nothing, absolutely nothing, away. Your hand was still in his, and you were surprised how well he could drive with one hand. And quite frankly, the sight of him made the car feel way hotter than before. Or maybe that was just you.
Finally, the car slowed to a stop in front of an elegant building tucked discreetly away from the main streets. Its clean lines and soft exterior lighting gave it an air of exclusivity, like a place that only allowed its presence to those who needed to find it. It gave off one of those magical kdramas you so often binge-watched with Jimin.
A valet appeared almost immediately, bowing politely as he opened both your doors one by one. The cool evening air met your skin as you stepped out. There was a faint scent of blooming night jasmine lingering somewhere nearby, a scent that always reminded you of your childhood because your parents had one in the garden. Jimin rounded the car and reached for your hand again. His fingers slid into place with yours perfectly. Then, without a word, he led you inside.
The lobby was luxurious, but it didn’t scream luxury. There was sort of a quiet elegance to it, in a way. Marble floors, soft lighting, and the muted sound of a fountain somewhere nearby. It was fancy in that carefully put-together way to feel calm and intimate enough for clients to feel comfortable.
Jimin guided you toward the private elevator that was tucked into the far corner, pressing the button for the very top floor of the building. The doors closed with a soft chime once you both entered. Inside was lined with mirrored walls and a warm, golden light. Then began the gentle whir of the elevator as it ascended. For a while, everything was silent, neither of you making a sound or a move.
Then Jimin shifted. The soft expression he wore since your date began faded away, and that playful glint lit up his eyes. It was very familiar to you, because he always had this expression when he was about to kiss you dumb. As usual, his smile widened, lips curving just enough for you to guess what he intended to do. And before you could say anything, he moved.
In a smooth motion, he stepped forward and closed the small distance between you two. Then you found yourself trapped against the cool mirrored wall of the elevator. His hold on you was firm enough to let you know that he’s not letting you move anywhere, but gentle enough not to hurt you. The impact was feathery light, but it still made your heart stutter in your chest. His hands found your waist and settled like they belonged there. Well, you wouldn’t complain if they took up permanent residence there.
You were so adjusted to Jimin’s antics that this didn’t surprise you at all. The scent of his perfume, a little musky but with that distinct whisper of orange blossom, wrapped around you instantly now that he stood this close. It carried hints of sun-warmed tangerine and lilac. The scent was soft and to you intoxicating enough that you’ve begun to associate these smells with him. It always lingered around you just enough to make you want to lean closer.
He was so close you could feel his breath, the tip of your nose touching his. And his eyes… those beautiful eyes, were locked onto yours. Then, as if he had all the time in the world, and not just until the elevator reached its destination, he leaned in and caught your lips with his.
This wasn’t one of his fleeting kisses, not a teasing one he sometimes used to make you laugh. This one was slow, the kind that made you forget to breathe for a moment. His lips moved against yours, deepening gradually until it felt like the world had tilted and settled around that single point of contact between the two of you. Nothing else mattered except it.
His hands stayed at your waist, holding you still, like you might run away, even though running away couldn’t be on your mind right now, while you were so deeply entangled with Park Jimin. It felt as if heaven itself couldn’t separate you two. You vaguely felt his fingers find their way under your shirt, even though his lips were distracting as it is. His thumb drew small, absent circles on your skin, and the feeling made you melt into him even further.
The elevator, its buzz, the light, the hum of machinery… it all became secondary to this. To him. All that remained was his warmth against yours, his fingers brushing against your skin, his soft lips pressing against yours ,and the thrum of your own heartbeat in your ears. He tasted faintly of the wine you two shared over dinner. It was sweet and a little sharp at the edges.
He finally pulled back just enough for the air to pass between you two, but he pressed his forehead against yours, staying as close as he could. Your lips still tingled with his touch after, like you still felt him touching you even when he’s already stopped. You could still feel your pulse racing somewhere deep in your chest, but that’s just the effect Jimin had on you, as always. If you were being honest, you had no idea when you closed your eyes during the kiss either; that's how much Jimin affected you.
You drew in a shaky breath, the best you could muster right now, and finally opened your eyes, only to find him already watching you. There was something in his gaze that made your heart literally stumble for a short moment. It was a mix of affection and satisfaction of knowing what exactly you were feeling right now, all thanks to him, of course. His eyes lingered on your lips for another second longer, then raised them to yours. You felt heat climb up your neck, all the way to your face, despite yourself.
You whispered his name, and it was as if the syllables barely left your lips, just loud enough for him here, even when there was no one but the two of you in the elevator. It came out even softer than you had intended, but it carried everything you couldn't say in this moment.
He just smiled slowly, giving you that same grin that always made you forget where you were or even what you'd meant to say. It wasn't cocky, not the kind he gave off on stage when he was Jimin of BTS, no. It was gentle, almost shy, actually. The one where his eyes disappeared slightly, and he looked like that freshly debuted boy with a big dream and a small budget.
The elevator came to a stop at last, and Jimin reluctantly stepped back half a pace, his hand sliding from your waist but not quite letting go. Jimin never shied away from physical contact, ever. Even if it was just holding your hand, he would do anything just to be closer to you physically.
As the doors parted, your breath caught. The world that was just revealed to you felt almost unreal. Jimin stepped out into the open expanse of the rooftop, and you followed after him. The rooftop garden seemed to hover above the city itself as you stood atop it. The air was cool, touched with the faint sweetness of flowers carried by the light breeze. Now you knew where the smell of the blooming night jasmine came from, somehow, the wind had carried it all the way to the ground. There was also a fountain, just like the one in the lobby. The sound of the water trickling slowly threaded through the still air up here.
Fairy lights stretched above you like a constellation brought down to earth just for this occasion, which you still haven't figured out what it was. The lights glowed softly, giving this place a warm atmosphere that you thought only came in movies or books. A narrow path of smooth stone led forward, guiding you two through clusters of green and pale blooms that caught the light and even faintly shimmered. The path led you to a couple of low tables, dotting the edge of the space. Each one was crowned with glowing lanters that swayed with the breeze. And scattered between the lanterns and on the ground were white rose petals. Your favorite flower.
Beyond this small rooftop garden, Seoul sprawled endlessly. Its skyline was a magical mix of colorful lights, with glass towers reflecting across the Han river below. You've never seen Seoul like this before. It was really the kind of view that made you feel small and infinite all at once.
„Jimin,“ You breathed out, turning to him. „This is... incredible. How did you even find this place?“ Your eyes were wide with wonder for the sheer beauty of this place. For all your time in Seoul since you moved in, you've never seen such a pretty place and view.
Jimin slipped an arm around your waist again, the movement as natural to him as pulling a complicated dance move on stage. He drew you closer to him until your steps matched. You moved down the path together. „I have my ways,“ he whispered, brushing his lips against your temple as he spoke. „I wanted somewhere beautiful, somewhere just for us, away from everything.“
You reached a space that was set apart from the rest of the garden. Here, the glow of the lights softened, and the hum of the city felt miles away. It was just for the two of you, the rest of the world didn't matter. A small table waited for you two beneath a wooden pergola, which was laced with strands of fairy lights that didn't glow as bright as the rest, creating a more intimate area. White roses were present too, woven through the beams. The chairs looked really soft and inviting, draped with soft throw blankets that caught the faint evening breeze. And the table... it was simple yet fancy, at the same time. Glassware shone lightly on top of it, reflecting the candlelight. A bottle of champagne rested in a bucket of ice beside them.
You turned toward him fully just then, your hands finding their way on top of his chest. Then your eyes searched his face, taking in how the soft light touched his perfectly smooth skin, and they caught the pride hiding in his expression. „You've outdone yourself, seriously. This is the most thoughtful anniversary gift. Just being here with you... It's perfect.“
Jimin smiled again, just like he did in the elevator moments earlier. It reached his eyes easily and made their corners crease the way they always did when he smiled this widely for you. He lifted his hand and brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You leaned into his touch until he cupped your face. This is where you felt the most loved.
„Nothing is too much for you, jagiya. Every year with you feels like a gift. You light up my world in ways I never imagined possible.“ His voice came out quiet, and he let the words settle between you two. Park Jimin was so full of love for you that it bled out in the way he looked at you, the way he held yo,u and the way he spoke to you. And God, it made your heart ache in the best possible way.
He let his hand fall from your face, only to take both of your hands into his. His warm palms pressed against yours, thumbs moving slowly over your knuckles. It was comforting. It was loving. His eyes stayed on yours, giving you a view of his vulnerability. He looked like he was about to hand you something fragile, like a piece of himself, as if he hadn't given you all of him already.
You felt your pulse quicken, that anticipation from before coming back. He brought you here for a reason, and you knew that. Everything around you both melted into the background: the lights, the distant hum of Seoul city life. This time, truly, nothing mattered. Not even the slightest. Jimin drew in a slow breath, and his expression shifted as well. You knew Jimin enough that you were partially ready for this. Ready by knowing that something was coming, but not ready at all for what was coming.
Then, a faint melody drifted through the air. It wasn't loud, it just simply existed. It found the space between the two of you and filled it, already touching your heart before you even heard the lyrics. And then came his voice. It was rich, smooth, and impossibly sincere. Every word carried the weight of his feelings and love. Every note bloomed into the next one as he began to sing:
All this is no coincidence
Just, just, by my feeling
The whole world is different from yesterday
Just, just, with your joy
When you called me
I became your flower
As if we were waiting
We bloom until we ache
Maybe it's the providence of the universe
It just had to be that
You know, I know
You are me, I am you
Your eyes widened, and your breath caught before you could stop it. The sound of his voice suspended everything around you. The wind, the lights, even time itself. You turned toward him, confusion flickering across your face at first, the kind that came when something feels too impossible to be real. But as the melody continued, understanding began to take its place.
This song... you'd never heard it before. It wasn't just the words or the way he sang them, no. It was the way they felt. Each line seemed to reach for you, to say everything he'd never quite fully put into words. His voice carried something he'd most likely guarded for a long time, as though he now stripped every layer of himself away until only the truth remained.
It sounded like him. Like every bit of his soul caught the rise and fall of the notes, every memory that lived between you two was stitched into the melody itself. The world around you was still distant, non-existent. You weren't sure you could ever feel like you existed anywhere else but right here in this moment, on the magical rooftop. There was only his voice, the weight of what it meant, and both of you.
Jimin's gaze never left you, not even for a second. You always thought that his eyes would be your undoing, and perhaps it finally came tonight. This wasn't him playing a song and asking your opinion, nor was it a performance. It was a confession, a simple truth that was hidden behind simple 'I love you's and bodies pressed together while his lips devoured yours. He was singing to you this time, not to an audience.
A single tear slipped free before you even noticed it. The tear slid down your cheek, feeling warm against the cool air. The melody carried on, and the garden seemed to breathe with it. The flowers swayed gently in the breeze, and the lanters flickered in time with the soft beats. It was truly magical, as if the entire rooftop was listening to your love story too.
As much as my heart flutters, I'm worried
The destiny is jealous of us
Just like you I'm so scared
When you see me, when you touch me
The universe has moved for us
Without missin a single thing
Out happiness was meant to be
‘Cause you love me, and I love you
~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~
The HYBE rehearsal studio was alive with the sound of a heavy bass vibrating, even through the floorboards if you focused enough. Sneakers squeaked with every turn in perfect sync with the seven boys practicing for their new single release. Sunlight filtered through the window, spilling onto the wooden floorboards. Dust caught in its light like glitter flying around the room. And the mirrored walls reflected the seven hardworking boys in motion.
In the middle of it all, Jimin was moving like a body of water. So graceful, one would be mesmerised with each movement he made. His blonde hair stuck to his forehead, the colored strands already damp with sweat. Even while fatigue was pulling at his muscles after almost the whole morning of warm-up and practice, he was still sharp as ever. This is the space he thrived in. The space he feels the most comfortable in, doing what he love,s and doing it with some of the most important people in his life: his members.
But he had this tendency that none of the people who loved and cared for him liked. Everyone knew about it. The said tendency was to forget the simplest things. Like eating, like drinking water. Or, like taking a break before his body protested. That was why the boys noticed before he did, the figure stepping inside and clutching a paper bag against their chest.
“Hyung,” Jungkook called out to him during the music break, since he was the first one to spot you entering. “Delivery”
Jimin’s head whipped toward the sound of Jungkook’s voice first, before it settled on you and suddenly his entire expression cracked wide open into a smile that made the corners of his eyes disappear. Almost instantly, his shoulders relaxed, despite his slightly uneven breath from the last run-through of the choreo.
“Y/N?” he breathed out your name so softly, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually come here today.
“Breakfast,” you said simply, lifting the bag to show him. “Because someone I know was about to go another five hours on nothing but coffee.” Your tone was light, but with a hint of accusation he knew all too well when it came to his dietary habits.
Taehyung grinned, taking off his cap and fanning himself dramatically. “Busted,” Came as a low amused mumble. All the boys knew there was no playing about eating when you’re around.
“I give it two minutes before Jimin forgets we exist,” Yoongi, who was already seated on the floor with a bottle of water, spoke with a smallest twitch of his lips. It earned a laugh from Seokjin, which sounded like an agreement. If anyone knew him inside out, it was the members. And they knew they were practically second to you on the Jimin hierarchy of needs.
And Yoongi’s statement wasn’t wrong at all. Jimin’s whole world seemed to tilt toward you the moment you stepped closer to him. As if you were the gravity holding him on the ground and he couldn’t fight it even if he wanted to.
“Did you walk here?” Jimin asked, already moving toward her before she could even set the bag down. His voice softened completely, it the way it only did for her and almost no one else. He reached for the bag automatically. A small crease formed between his brows, she recognized it as the one that always appeared when he was worrying about something. Her apartment was too far to walk here this early, and even though she looked fine, he still worried. He always did, it was simply his default feeling.
“No, I took a cab. Don’t worry, I wasn’t carrying this halfway through Seoul,” Y/N teased, with a smile tugging at her lips. She handed the bag over to him and he took it, gentle fingers brushing over hers. He gave her a look, half relieved, half scolding, and she couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out. She always found him adorable like this, when his concern showed in every tiny movement, every thought, like he didn’t know how not to care. That was just Jimin through and through: always looking after everyone else, but never realizing how much it showed in his actions.
He ran a hand through his hair, which was already damp from practice, letting his pale blond strands fall forward over his forehead. Without thinking, Y/N reached up and brushed the loose locks aside, before he could pull away. Her fingers grazed his skin and he almost shivered. The gesture was small, almost careless truly, but the effect was instant.
Jimin stilled completely, and for that brief moment, the noise in the room dimmed. His gaze flicked up to meet hers. The corners of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it, and instead he was caught somewhere between a memory and reality. He didn’t have to tell her anything, not really. She could tell what he was thinking, just from his look.
He was stretched out across the couch of his apartment, his head resting peacefully in your lap, body loose with the kind of calm that only came to him when the world finally went quiet. The soft fabric of your sweatpants had turned into the most comfortable pillow imaginable, and he looked perfectly at peace here like this. His eyes were half-lidded, threatening to take him down into a deep kind of sleep. And his lips, oh those were curved into a lazy smile that you knew all too well. The late afternoon light filtered through the window in golden streams. It spilled across the floor, climbed over the edge of the couch, and brushed over the blanket draped across his legs.
You sat quietly, your fingers tracing slow paths through his hair, as you often liked to do when you two sat like this together. His pale strands slipped between your fingers like silk, still a little unusual from his recent bleach job. It took a while to get used to his new looks, but by far, blonde has always been your favorite color on him. You combed through it with a kind of unconscious tenderness, and the motion of it lulled him further into the comfortable haze that lingered between sleep and awareness.
The faint scent of your lotion clung to the air, it was something floral, and beneath it, lingered the sweetness of the tea you had made earlier. The mix of it felt like home here, even though you two haven't made a home yet in either of your apartments. However, a specific place wasn't really a home for you two. Not when home was wherever you two were forever. Jimin's breathing had settled into a very steady rhythm, chest rising and falling slowly as you played with his hair.
„You know,“ You murmured, voice low above him. „I think I like your hair like this. It feels so... soft. Like a cloud.“ You tugged gently on a strand, watching how it cought the light.
Jimin let out a quiet sigh, but let the corners of his lips twitch up. „Is that so? I always worry about the damage from bleaching. But if you like it, then it's worth it.“ His voice was slightly drowsy, but touched with humor at the same time. At moments when he's too comfortable to hold anything back, his laugh came the easiest, as it did now. He shifted slightly to stretch his limbs and make himself more comfortable. A soft sound escaped him once he settled, and it sounded almost like a purr.
„Oh, don't say that!“ the sound of your brief laugh filled the room. „You shouldn't damage your hair for anyone, not even me. But really, it suits you.“ You run your fingers through his strands again, as if to make a point. „It makes your eyes stand out even more.“
He tilted his head slightly. „My eyes?“ he mumbled, cracking one open to look up at you. „What about my eyes?“
You smiled down at him, thumb brushing along his temple absently. „They just sparkle more against the lighter color,“ you saif softly. Your fingers never stopped their gentle work through his hair. The motion was soothing and unhurried, as if time has lost it's meaning completely and there is only him and you in this world. „Like little stars. And your smile... it looks brighter too. You know, you have the cutest smile in the entire universe.“
The sound that left his lips next was warm, simply a quiet laugh that settled between you both like it belonged. And, truthfully, it did. „You're just saying that because you love me.“
„Well, that's certainly part of it,“ you admitted, teasingly. „But it's also true. You know, sometimes I just watch you when you're busy with something, or when you're just deep in thought, and I think about how lucky I am.“
Jimin finally opened both eyes, lookng up at you with that gaze of his that always made your heart skip a couple of times. „Lucky? I'm the lucky one, Y/N. Getting to come home to this? To you, just being here, letting me rest my tired head on your lap, listening to you ramble about my hair. It's the best part of my day.“ He reached up and gently cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb across your skin upon contact.
The warmth of his palm against your skin made your breath hitch. The feel of his thumb brushing slowly against your cheekbone gave you the shivers right across your spine. Your heart fluttered in your chest. It was a quiet response to his touch, one he'll never know about because only you felt it.
„It's not rambling,“ you pouted first, but then a fond smile made your lips curl up. „It's appreciation.“ You leaned down toward him. Your eyes searched his face, commiting it to your memory for a hundreath time. Park Jimin was truly an angel in disguise, and he was your angel. „And if you're going to keep saying sweet things like that, you might get a reward.“
Before Jimin could even respond to that, you lowered your head completely. Your lips gently pressed against his soft ones. The kiss was soft at first, just a gentle meeting of your lips with his. His hand, lingering against your cheek just a second ago, drifted up to the back of your neck. You felt your fingers tangle into your hair urgently, a sensation that made you let out a brief sigh against his mouth. You leaned further down despite the awkward angle because it was worth it. So damn worth feeling his lips.
His head shifted slightly in your lap carefully, not to stop this moment, but to prolong it just a little longer. Your other hand slipped to his jaw, thumb tracing his smooth skin there. He was right here, kissing you back, loving you back. Nothing else mattered anymore. The world outside didn't matter. Nothing, absolutely nothing, except what you two had right here.
When you finally broke apart, breathless and hazy, you stayed close. Your lips brushed his cheek once as you attempted to catch your breath. Then you rested your forehead against his, noses almost touching. Jimin's lashes fluttered and he smiled faintly, that beautiful smile you praised just minutes earlier. And your fingers, still tangled in his bleached hair, absently combed through the soft strands. You just weren't willing to let go yet.
„That was a very good reward,“ he murmured, his slightly husky voice almost sending your mind into a frenzy. Oh, you just loved knowing that you caused it. „Maybe you should appreciate my hair more often.“
The small intimacy display drew a chorus of muffled groans and chuckles in the background though. As much as they love how comfortable and happy Jimin is with you, they won’t miss a chance to tease. “Seriously, you two,” Namjoon muttered loud enough to be heard. But his complaint is betrayed by the amusement in his tone.
Jimin decides it’s better to ignore them. “You’ll stay while we eat, right?” He asks, not taking his eyes off you.
“Of course,” you said with the smallest of nods, and that was all he needed.
The boys dispersed quite quickly to their own devices, some grabbing water, others collapsing dramatically on the floor to scroll their phones or chat. But Jimin still hasn’t let go of your wrist, so he tugged you gently toward the corner of the studio. The spot was away from the mirrors and speakers, enough to help him pretend the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.
He sank onto the floor beside you, enough to leave minimal space between both of you, as usual. He stretched his tired legs out, his chest still rising and falling with leftover effort. He watched you unpack the bag, not even looking at what you got him. He trusted your judgement when it came to what he ate, a lot. Meanwhile, you laid out neatly wrapped sandwiches and warm pastries, and almost immediately, the faint aroma of eggs and cheese wafted through the air. It was breakfast you two often got when he had a free morning. Sometimes it was easier to order than waste precious time cooking, time you could spend cuddling, of course.
Jimin finally laid his eyes on the spread and let out a small laugh, well, it was more half a laugh, half genuine awe. “God, I love you,” his voice carried that familiar hint of emotion that it felt as if the sun had moved closer when it reached your chest.
“You love food more,” you corrected while handling him the sandwich you knew he specifically always ordered.
He accepted it obediently with both hands, like you handed him a prize or something. But then he leaned closer until his temple brushed against your shoulder. “I love you more.”
The words were so natural coming from him. No matter how frequently he voices them, they never lose weight. Being loved by him wasn’t grandiose nor loud, no. He wasn’t one for grand speeches or sweeping gestures. Love from him didn’t come in fireworks, but in the slow burn of everyday kindness. His love showed up in the way he remembered your tea just the way you liked, in the way his hand pressed to the small of your back whenever he could. And especially in the way he listened, really listened, when you spoke.
As he unwrapped his sandwich, you caught him glancing at you more than the food. His eyes sparkled with warmth you were well familiar with. Despite the exhaustion clinging to him, he still had energy to admire you. His lips curled into that small, and almost shy smile that said a thousand different things at once.
You nudged his knee with yours. “What?”
“Nothing,” he murmured with a head shake. He looks down at his sandwich briefly, and before taking a bite, adds: “Just… you’re here. That’s all.”
The words were so simple, such bare minimum, but they still made your throat tighten because of the way he said them. In his world, they were sacred, carrying an entire universe within. But, from the other side of the room, he caught attention.
“Hyung, don’t get all sappy now. We’re trying to eat in peace here.” Jungkook called out between bites of his own food. You let out a laugh, Jimin groaned, and Hoseok clapped his hands together, throwing himself back onto an old bean bag that was there for convenience. Hoseok laughed with his whole body and it’s always good to have something soft beside him to land on.
He spoke once he calmed down and straightened up again. “Yah, Jungkook, let them be. We should be thankful, our Jiminie is this happy because of her. Look at his face!”
Jin, because why not, added: “Happier than when he gets extra rice cakes.”
The teasing simply rolled off Jimin like sweat beads after a concert. Normally, he might turn pink and deny it, but he was long past that phase of shyness. Now he only smiled wider, accepting every word they spoke. He even reached up and brushed the couple of stray breadcrumbs from your bottom lip with his thumb as though to prove every word they said true.
“You make me soft,” he confessed under his breath, just low enough for you to hear him. “I don’t even care if they tease me.” He said it and meant it. It didn’t help that the way he was looking at you made it impossible to doubt.
The two of you took your time finishing breakfast, lingering over each bite like there was no rush. He offered you sips of his water, fed you the last bite of his sandwich even though you protested, wiped your fingers with a napkin more carefully than necessary. His every action screamed devotion, no matter how quiet and small. It said a lot about him as a person.
When it was time to practice again, the boys were already back in their work mode. Jimin rose reluctantly and tugged you up with him. “Stay a little longer?” he asked, still holding onto your hand and brushing his thumb over your knuckles.
When you nodded, his whole face lit up at once. It struck you how love looked on him, like the music he and the boys worked so hard on to perfect for ARMY. His hands went around your face, gently holding it like a drop of water on the surface of his palm. His soft lips pressed a quick kiss to yours. It was short, yet loving, just enough to keep you both together for the next few hours of physical separation.
When he pulled back, he brushed his thumb against your cheek, and then stepped back to return to the center of the room.
~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~
The hallway outside Yoongi’s studio was dim at this hour, lit only by the soft glow spilling under his door. The rapper was hardworking as usual, staying later in his studio to work on beats, whether it was a group project or his solo stuff. Jimin admired that about him, since their first days together.
Jimin stood there for a few seconds longer than he had planned. He chewed on his bottom lip because he hasn’t felt this nervous about anything else other than performances and new releases. In his hand, he clutched folded pages of lyrics he’s been writing for a while. He wasn’t usually nervous about asking his hyung for help, Yoongi had always been dependable and ready to lend a hand, but this was different. It wasn’t a group thing, it wasn’t for ARMY. This one thing was for him and her. For something that mattered to him in a way he couldn’t even put fully into words with these lyrics he held.
He took a breath, and finally knocked lightly on the door.
A muffled voice came from inside. “It’s open.”
Pushing the door, Jimin stepped inside. The familiar scent of coffee and warm electronics greeted him, along with a subtle tang of whiskey Yoongi would indulge in, for inspiration, of course. There was a familiar comfort of the neat clutter of Yoongi’s space: stacks of notebooks, scattered cables, and the faint hum of a beat looping on the speakers. Jimin didn’t know how a man can make a mess but at the same time make it look… organized, the way his hyung does. Speaking of, Yoongi sat in his chair, spinning lazily from side to side since he couldn’t sit completely still the whole time. His hair, which he didn’t bother to push aside, fell into his eyes as he looked up at Jimin’s entrance.
“Oh,” Yoongi said casually. “You. Thought you were Hobi with more coffee.”
Jimin let out a small laugh and shut the door behind him. “Sorry to disappoint, hyung. It’s just me.”
Yoongi shrugged, gesturing vaguely toward the chair across from him. “Sit. You look like you’ve got something on your mind.” Classic Yoongi. The silent guy that knows them so well, possibly better than they know themselves. It comes from years of sitting silently, watching everyone and noting their words and interests to store into his internal memory of people he cares about.
Jimin crossed the room, feeling his nerves build more and more with each step. He set the folded papers on his lap and sat down. For a moment, he only stared at them, absolutely unsure where to begin. Yoongi didn’t press, he never actually did. Instead, he turned back toward the monitor, paused the track he was working on and leaned back in his chair. His hands folded loosely in his lap and Jimin knew the man meant business.
Finally, the younger man drew in a breath. “Hyung… I need a favor.”
His words got Yoongi’s complete, undivided attention. His head tilted slightly and dark eyes flicked over Jimin’s expression. “Big or small?”
“Big.”
Then, a quiet beat passed between them before Yoongi nodded once like that was it, all the info he needed. “Alight. What is it?”
Instantly, Jimin’s throat tightened. He cursed his own nerves, especially in moments like these when he needed himself to be at his best. Despite all that, he unfolded the papers and smoothed them out on the desk between them. His handwriting filled the pages in lines that were scribbled and rewritten, some verses were crossed out, there were even little notes in the margins all around. Yoongi leaned forward to glance at them, interest peaking right away, and Jimin felt his ears heating.
“It’s… lyrics,” Jimin explained, while keeping his voice even. Despite trusting Yoongi, even with his life, Jimin didn’t want his friend to see him so not composed as he usually is. “I’ve been working on them for a while now. They’re not for an album, or anything official. They’re just… for me. Well, for someone.”
Yoongi’s eyes flicked up to him and Jimin knew he could read him like these messy words on the white paper. “Y/N.”
Was Jimin surprised? Not really. But he still swallowed hard and blinked at his friend. “That easy to tell?”
“You wouldn’t look this nervous if it was for anyone else,” Yoongi replied simply, like it was the most obvious thing. And it was, actually. He looked back down at the lyrics, taking the paper into his own hands. Jimin let him, trusting his judgement. The rapper skimmed the first few lines, lips pressed tight in thought. “What’s the occasion?”
There it is. The moment of reveal which had Jimin in a chokehold since he decided to come to Yoongi. His voice dropped when he spoke. “Our third anniversary. And… I’m going to propose.”
For the next moment, silence filled the studio again, except for the silent hum of the equipment that should otherwise be unnoticeable. But Jimin heard it, along with his own heartbeat. Yoongi’s brows lifted slightly, but his expression betrayed pride. That fact eased Jimin, just a little. He watched Yoongi lean back and cross his arms over his chest loosely.
“Well,” he said after the pause. “that explains the nerves.”
Feeling less rigid, Jimin laughed weakly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I want it to be special, hyung. I want to give her something that’s… just for us. A song no one else will hear. And I thought… I thought maybe you could help me make it real.”
Yoongi studied him for a moment, no judgement in those dark eyes at all. Then, he leaned forward again and looked back down at the lyrics, continuing to skim the rest. He was obviously imagining the beat, the rhythm, and probably how it will all turn out in a final draft already. Yet there was something… just a little curve at the corner of his mouth. It was subtle, but it gave Jimin all the answers he needed. “You really had to ask?”
Jimin blinked though, anxiety getting better of him. “What do you mean?”
“You know I’ll help you,” Yoongi said flatly, but his actions already contradicted the characteristic calmness he expressed. He picked up a pencil and started marking the margins of Jimin’s lyrics. He was tapping the desk with his other hand on the side, already working the rhythm as he read. “Doesn’t matter if it’s for release or not. If it’s important to you, I’ll make time.”
Jimin’s chest instantly tightened before he even finished the sentence. This was Yoongi. No drama follows this man, no noise in his actions, but he’s always there. Always. He was the kind of person who would never turn down a friend in need.
“Thank you, hyung,” Jimin said softly. He didn’t doubt Yoongi’s willingness to help, but he didn’t want to take it for granted either, especially not when he knew Yoongi was a busy man.
Yoongi’s response sounded distracted, since he was still focused on the words written. “Mmm. Don’t thank me yet. Let’s see what you’ve got here.” Jimin didn’t comment, just letting his friend do his music magic, or whatever it is he did to make everything about music and songs so magical and special. Speaking of Yoongi, he tapped a line with the eraser end of his pencil, humming to himself again. “This one’s good. Simple and honest. But the flow stumbles here, if you want it to sit over a melody, we might have to adjust. You okay with tweaking a few lines?”
“Of course.”
Yoongi nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Good. You already have a melody in mind?”
“Sort of. Just…” Jimin hesitated, unsure about something this important. “Bits and pieces. Nothing solid, really.”
“Sing it,” Yoongi said without looking up.
The younger man’s eyes widened. “Now?”
Yoongi finally looked up, giving him a look. “What, you want me to wait until tomorrow? Sing it.”
With a sheepish laugh, Jimin cleared his throat. He began humming the melody that’s been circling his head for weeks. It wasn’t perfect, not final yet. But it carried the feeling he wanted for this project: soft and yearning. As Jimin sang, Yoongi’s pencil started moving over the paper again. He sketched notes and little arrows only he could understand and connect across the page.
When Jimin finished, a third round of silence lingered for the shortest of moments as Yoongi finished sketching. Then he hummed the tune back slower, testing it against the words he newly added. “Not bad,” He finally said. “Needs some smoothing, but it works nicely. We can build around that,” He looked up, meeting Jimin’s eyes. “You want this to feel intimate, yeah? Just the two of you.”
Jimin nodded quickly. “Exactly.”
“Then we keep it stripped down,” Yoongi said, nodding at the paper. He was in full lyricist-producer work mode now. “Acoustic base, maybe piano. Let your voice carry it mostly. No need for heavy production or it’ll drown the meaning. You want her to hear you, not the layers around you.”
Jimin swallowed, slightly overwhelmed by just how easily Yoongi understood. “That’s… that’s perfect.”
Yoongi shrugged like it was nothing, just his usual daily thing to do. Well, truthfully, it was. He lived music. This truly was nothing. “When do you need it by?” He asked, flipping to a blank page in his notebook.
“The anniversary’s in two weeks,” Jimin admitted. “I know it’s short notice, hyung, but-”
“Two weeks is plenty,” Yoongi cut in before Jimin can begin rambling and panic about the due date. “We’ll get it done.” He added, matter-of-fact.
Jimin just blinked, his heart squeezing with so much love he thought was impossible to have for a man he considered a brother. “Really?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Yoongi shot him a flat look. He had a point, Yoongi never joked about finishing on time.
Jimin laughed, shaking his head. “No. I just… I didn’t think you’d drop everything for this.” If he was to be honest, now he felt guilty for pulling Yoongi away from everything else he had on his schedule. He’d hate to be the reason for Yoongi's dark circles.
Yoongi leaned back, twirling the pencil between his fingers. “You’re my brother. You ask, I help. It’s that simple.”
With Yoongi, words like that carried weight. He didn’t say them often and he didn’t need to. But everyone who knew him understood that when he did speak like this, it wasn’t to fill silence, it was because he meant it. Even when he spoke them as easily as saying a quick “hello”, those words pressed against Jimin’s chest and sunk deeper than he expected.
Sincerity has always been his quiet strength, not masked and dressed up in grand gestures or flowery phrases, but it was a certainty that made you believe him without question. And right now, Jimin believed him with everything he had. He ducked his head, suddenly shy as the papers in his lap rustled under his hands. “You always say things like that so easily.” he murmured, almost accusingly even when his voice carried nothing but warmth.
Yoongi glanced at him, eyes narrowing slightly in thought, like he was debating whether to respond or not. And for a moment, Jimin even thought he’d hear something else, like a dry quip, or even a deeper, rarer confession. But then, Yoongi just closed his mouth and huffed out a breath through his nose. Then gave a small nod. Enough sentimentality for one night. Agust D wasn’t built to sit in feelings too long.
It was time to work anyway, Jimin knew so. He wouldn’t leave this studio without at least seeing the first draft, knowing how Yoongi operated. So, for the next fifteen minutes, Yoongi bent over the lyrics. His pen scratched the paper, leaving the gray mark on the paper, occasionally pausing to tap the desk in rhythm as he adjusted a phrase or mapped a possible chorus.
Meanwhile, Jimin sat quietly opposite him with his hands folded in his lap. His thumb and forefinger fidgeted, rolling the edge of the paper as he watched Yoongi work. At first, the silence made him aware of his own nervous heartbeat, but the steady sound of Yoongi’s pencil became a kind of anchor he could focus on and it was pulling him into the calm state he didn’t come into this studio with.
The reassurance Yoongi had given him was almost short, but it was still echoing in his mind. We’ll get it done. It was all he needed to hear to help the anxiety twisting in his stomach for days now to unravel finally. He knew that he had all the support from his members, without a doubt. But it still helped to know that for certain, since Yoongi was the first to find out.
His thoughts drifted toward what came after, more specifically, the anniversary and the proposal. He pictured it in flashes: her face when she hears the song, the way her hands might tremble, the way her eyes would widen. He imagined holding out the ring he already picked out, his heart thumping in his throat at that point. And then asking the question he’s been carrying for months.
It had to be perfect. It just had to. He knew life didn’t always give you perfect moments, but this one… he wanted to create it with his own hands for her. No, for them. Not just as an anniversary or a celebration of three years together, but as a promise. A marker of the day they’d step into the rest of their lives together. The happily ever after.
Once the clock Yoongi never glanced at, but kept in his studio just because, crept past midnight and that first rough demo was saved, Jimin leaned back in his chair and let his shoulders sag like he’d carried all the weight of the day upon them. The glow on his face wasn’t just from the screen of Yoongi’s monitor, it was actually the kind of tired brightness that came from pouring himself into something that mattered.
That’s when Yoongi slid a fresh cup of coffee across the desk without a word. He had taken a break to boil water in the kettle and poured in the little bag of 3in1 coffee he kept in his studio for emergencies. Not his usual go-to, but it works when he’s too work drunk to wait for an order to arrive. Jimin had no idea how many times he’s been in this situation back when he had to record his parts of group songs when he was too busy to be there for the group record sessions.
Jimin wrapped his hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. His throat tightened impossibly tight, partly emotion about everything he has planned, partially the gratitude he couldn’t quite put into words right now. So, he decides not to address how much help Yoongi was and make the man go through all the sentimentality again. But, his anxiety flared up again about something. “Hyung,” he murmured, not daring to look up from the dark swirl of coffee. “she’s going to say yes, right?”
Yoongi didn’t laugh at his worry. Didn’t tease or mock him for being nervous, or make light of the question asked. Instead, he rested a steady hand on Jimin’s shoulder. The younger man felt the weight of it immediately and it was comforting. It was enough to pull Jimin out of the tangle of the doubts circling inside his chest.
“If she loves you the way these lyrics say she does,” Yoongi’s voice was even, but there was no mistaking the gentleness. “then she already has.”
Jimin let the words sink in as the room settled into a comfortable silence again. His lips curved just slightly, feeling the quiet reassurance anchor him more than any grand pep talk ever could. Sometimes you just need less words and more presence than a whole speech. And that was exactly what worked for Jimin right now. He couldn’t be more thankful for the people he’s surrounded himself with over the years. And he’s going to spend the rest of his life with one of them soon.
~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~
Seoul never really slept, but inside the HYBE building there was this little studio called the Genius Lab that might as well have been its own world. Even before Jimin’s project, the studio lights were on until wee hours. Specifically this week, Jimin found himself there every night, slipping in after schedules ended, after rehearsals drained him of sweat and breath, and after laughter and chatter with the boys gave way to silence. He would knock gently and Yoongi would already be waiting inside with half-finished coffee on the desk and the light of his monitor shone brightly upon his face.
The first night had been a little shaky. Jimin’s voice trembled just a little when he hummed the melody and he knew it happened because he was afraid of breaking something so delicate he’s built in this song. But Yoongi caught it immediately and cast his chord magic that always left Jimin in wonder. Now, several nights later, the song was taking shape and what started as mere pencil-scribbles in messy margins of a notebook was slowly transforming into something special.
Jimin leaned against the booth wall, headphones slipping slightly over his ears. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with his singing when he went over one line again, making it softer now and with less strain, as Yoongi suggested. He could already imagine her hearing it for the first time, while he knelt to the ground with that ring in his fingers, he can imagine her smile breaking open as she realized what it meant. That scene alone was enough to make his voice catch with emotion, but he didn’t let that stop him.
Yoongi listened, as usual when he worked on projects. His eyes were closed and head tilted slightly as though he could picture every note and imagine them settling into place within the walls of his mind. When Jimin finished, he looked through the glass that separated him and Yoongi.
“Better,” Yoongi finally opened his eyes, locking them with Jimin’s inside the recording booth. “You don’t need to push so hard. Let it breathe.” He adjusted a dial on his mixer and glanced back at Jimin. “Sing it like you’re whispering it to her.”
The words found their way to Jimin through the headphones and he nodded. He pressed the headphones closer and gave it another shot. This time, there was less force and more tenderness in how he sang it. When he finished, the look Yoongi gave him was subtle but approving in that Yoongi way. “That’s it,” the rapper murmured, already saving the take.
Jimin smiled faintly, heart full of love and whatever else it could muster up. “Hyung… thank you. Really.” He said, knowing Yoongi could hear him loud and clear.
The rapper didn’t answer right away though. Momentarily he busied himself with the screen to adjust what he deemed needed before finally saying, “Don’t thank me until she hears it. That’s when it matters.”
Days after that blurred together for Jimin. He had this song to work on and the group’s schedule was also very packed. Rehearsals that left everyone half-collapsed by evening, a variety show recording that stretched into the afternoon, and a whole lot of different things as well. Cameras followed them wherever they went, recording half their lives to be forever up on the internet.
And just beneath all the chaos and hectic work life, Jimin carried a secret sitting in his chest like he grew a second heart. It would often quicken like his actual heart whenever he looked down at his phone and her message sat in his notifications, the silly little hearts she always used making his day better. Every free minute, every silver of quiet he managed to catch during his busy day, his thoughts drifted back to that song, and the moment she heard it. The moment he goes down on one knee.
He didn’t tell the rest of the boys yet. Not because he didn’t want to. God forbid there was anything he didn’t share with them. But he was as nervous about it as he was when Yoongi found out, only five times over this time. He didn’t know how to do it, which might be stupid, considering he once shared a single bedroom with a bunch of bunk beds with these six guys. And a bathroom, for that matter. But the boys did notice he was different. Oh, they always notice.
It was Seokjin who caught on first, actually, during a late night group dinner they rarely had when life gets busy. Nothing ever went past those older brother senses of his. Everyone was eating noisily, especially the two youngest. Jungkook made a bet with Taehyung about who can eat his noodles sooner. But Seokjin? Oh, that man leaned back in his seat and eyes Jimin like he’s grown two heads. And Jimin was half-distracted with his chopsticks hovering and a smile tugging at his lips.
“You’ve been glowing lately,” Seokjin remarked casually, like talking about the weather. But that glint in his eyes said this was anything but casual. “Care to share why?”
The table quieted down just enough for Jimin to realize all five pairs of eyes had turned toward him (minus Yoongi who seemed to know where this was going, his cat sense tingling or whatever). Taehyung leaned in immediately, noodles forgotten and a boxy grin on display. Jungkook also forgot the bet, obviously and let his curiosity get the best of him. Hoseok also tilted his head and Namjoon simply waited and watched, so intensely that Jimin almost thought that the leader had him figured out already.
Speaking of Jimin, his face burned under their gazes and he let out a nervous laugh, trying to wave it off. That’s when Yoongi set his chopsticks down and glanced at Jimin, as if confirming whether or not he’s about to spill it. But for the rest of the boys, the silence and the glance was enough of an answer.
“Hyung!” Taehyung gasped almost dramatically, slapping the table. “You know something!”
Yoongi didn’t blink or flinch at the accusation. He only sipped his soda and let the chaos build around him. It wasn’t his place to tell, no matter how much he finally wanted the cat out of the bag, if he were honest.
“Tell us, tell us!” Jungkook leaned across the table like a child begging for candy.
Jimin ducked his head and pressed his lips into a smile he knew couldn’t be hidden anymore. He didn’t need to say the words out loud for the boys to know something big was going on. They just knew him too well. They felt it in his softness lately, in the way he disappeared after practice only to return the next morning glowing despite yesterday’s exhaustion. They saw it in everything.
And when he told them, they all burst into a fit of cheers so loud it made him flinch before he laughed. Hoseok jumped up first, nothing short of Hoseok-like, and practically dragged Jimin up on his feet to shake his shoulders before pulling him into a crushing hug. Taehyung was right behind him, clapping so hard his palms must’ve stung. He couldn’t resist hugging his soulmate, his best friend, the first one in the group to get engaged and live a happy life with his partner.
Seokjin did the most elder brotherly thing and smacked Jimin lightly on the back. It was a very proud and partially teasing gesture which the younger man appreciated very much. Jugkook was still as wide-eyed as Jimin remembered him from their debut days. He shouted something incoherent, which might have been something with the few beers the maknae had during dinner, and then threw his arms around Jimin. And Namjoon, always so damn composed, couldn’t keep his cool this time. His dimples graced Jimin’s view as the older guy laughed and wrapped him in a hug that felt more like being anchored safely than just a hug. Namjoon had that effect on people.
It was overwhelming in the best way possible, Jimin thought. Shouts, whistles, congratulations coming from all sides of him, coming from people he cared about the most (with the exception of one girl that waited for him after this dinner). The group’s joy was so unfiltered that it filled every corner of the room, bouncing off the walls, vibrating in Jimin’s chest until it nearly burst from inside out.
For a long moment, he could only stand there and watch his best friends being so happy for him they could light up a whole city with how much energy they’ve got going on here. It wasn’t just that they were happy for him, actually, it was that they believed in him and in what he was about to do. But then again, this was them, and even if he was climbing the rock bottom, they’d believe in him.
And for the first time, he could see the full picture of that day: the moment he would kneel before her, the song filling the air between them as his confession in the way he knew to confess best (through music), and his heart open and bare for her to softly take into her hands and care for. And the boys somewhere nearby, watching, maybe even holding back tears of their own.
He smiled to himself, feeling that familiar tightness in his chest that had been following him for months now.
Soon.
~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ~ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ~
The final notes of the song faded, leaving a silence that settled over the rooftop, broken only by the faint sounds of life all around the building. Your hands trembled and you desperately tried to steady yourself, but it just wasn't working. You were rooted to that one spot, while every single emotion crashed into you at once. Your breathing was uneven, and the tears on your cheeks felt warm despite the coolness of the night air. The tears weren't those of sadness, not even close. They were tears that came when the heart overflowed with emotion and the body couldn't contain the feeling.
Jimin watched you with an expression that held nothing back. His eyes caught the light from the fairy strands above, giving that already soft pair a glassy shimmer. Moments ago, he'd been lost in the song, listening to his own voice carry over the rooftop. You could tell that each note carried a piece of his soul with the wind. Now he stood completely still in front of you, as if scared to disturb the moment.
„That song...“ You managed, but your voice was barely above a whisper. „Jimin, I... that was incredible. I've never heard it. Was that... you recorded that?“
Needing your proximity, Jimin stepped closer to you. His smile bloomed softly, hiding his perfect eyes. It warmed his entire face instantly. When he reached up to touch your cheeks, his thumbs brushed over the wet trails of your tears with care that made your breath hitch all over again. He held you as if you might shatter from the weight of this night and specifically this moment. He knew he was at the edge as well. This was such an important moment.
„I did. For you. It's been finished for a week or two, waiting for the right moment.“ He paused brefly before adding. „Our moment.“ His voice showed his calmness, which contrasted with the full force storm that churned inside of you. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the speech he's planned to deliver. No matter how many times he's rehearsed it, the speech never felt perfect enough in his opinion. But he had a feeling he won't mess it up. „The entire night, Y/N, it isn't just an anniversary dinner.“
He drew his hands away from your face even though he wasn't fond of breaking the physical contact with you. Jimin was the kind of clingy type of guy, but not in that overly clingy way, not really. He just needed reassurance that you're here by holding your hand. Just like now, when he laced your fingers together to gently guide you a few slow steps until you stood beneath the cluster of brightest light.
The pergola framed your two figures like you were on stage, even though nothing about this moment right now felt performative. Jimin had spent years mastering the art of the stage. He's given his everything, his blood, sweat and tears, to make something special for thousands and thousands of fans watching him. And he was brilliant at it. Together with his members, he was unstoppable, like a force that can conquer everything. But right here, where the two of you stood, none of it mattred. There was no audience or expectations to meet, just the two of you.
„I remember the first time I saw you,“ he finally spoke after giving you enough time to process the song and focus on the speech he was about to deliver. His voice dropped to a low note too, and you knew that you're not leaving this rooftop with dry eyes. „It was at that pop-up gallery opening, remember? The one near the river? I was supposed to be doing a quick appearance, get in and out. And there you were, not among the other people, but djusting the aperture on that vintage camera of yours, trying to capture the way the last rays of sun were hitting that single, overlooked sculpture in the corner.“
His voice carried you both back, and you could see the memory unfolding behind his eyes as the wind brushed the rose petals along the pergola. That faint scent of the flowers shifted around you two as the wind moved with a mind of its own. The only thing that kept you grounded right now and not floating around like this trail of flowers, was the feeling of his hands in yours. Then he let out a soft laugh, which sounded nostalgic while he relived your earliest memories.
„Everyone else focused on the obvous art, on all the flashy pieces,“ he continued speaking, and gave your fingers a gentle squeeze just because. The movement spoke more than his words alone did. „But you... you saw the subtle beauty in all the pieces. You were completely lost in your focus, oblivious to everything else around you. It was like watching a master painter, Y/N, except your canvas was the world, and your tool were your eyes.“
While he spoke, the lights above flickered softly. The light caught in the stray strands of hair that brushed over your cheek. And that endless city behind him faded away into a nightsky full of man made stars. And there he was: the center of those stars, delivering what seems to be the beginning of the most heartfel speech you've ever heard.
Jimin paused like he had all the time in the world to finish this night, or he just didn't want it to end so he was prolonging every moment he had. The silence stretched, but it was a perfectly calculated moment of nothingness. Jimin certainly knew how to deliver a speech, especially since he has experiences giving speeches. His eyes gazed upon you softly, which shouldn't be that special to you, since he always looked at you with these soft eyes. But in this moment, while you were uncertain what this all meant, the way his eyes shone with love, it took you off guard slightly. It made you feel seen, which unsettled you and grounded you both at once. Jimin finally spoke up. „That's what you do to my life, jagi.“
As if he wasn't already close to you, he made a point by stepping closer, bringing more warmth to you. The movement brought a fresh swirl of his cologne, which was citrusy tonight, into the air and the scent wrapped around you. „You teach me to stop looking at the stage lights and to focus on the soft light of the morning,“ He went on. „You taught me how to see myself, not just the image the world expects. You brought depth and color to a life that was honestly, sometimes, feeling a little too black and white.“ His words carried a kind of truth that, for a musician, was easier to say through a song, rather than speak them this openly.
„Our journey hasn't been easy, has it?“ he murmured, and this time his voice carried more weight and conviction than before. „We had to survive time differences and distances when I was on tours, the insane schedules of my life and constant secrecy. There were months where a ten minute video call felt like a miracle when I had pre-concert prep.“ With the remembrance of those nights when either you or he had to stay up late to greet each other even for ten minutes or less, he gave a small smile. „But every moment apart only solidified one thought for me: you are the place I want to return to, every single time. You are my home, Y/N. My peace.“
He lifted your joined hands with care, raising them between your bodies to plant a kiss on your skin. When his lips brushed the back of your hand, that kiss lingered. He didn't rush it because he didn't want just his words to present his love for you. Jimin, was a man of physical care, after all. He's done this so many times when the two of you had move nights, him laying between your arms because he loved the feeling of them wrapped around his body. He would raise your hand to his lips and paint butterfly kisses upon it. But this right here, oh it meant so much more. His warmth and the feeling of those soft lips against your skin tightened your throat and blurred the edges of your vision.
„That was my new song for you,“ he said. „It's called Serendipity, because that's what you are to me.“ He paused yet again, obviously loving this dramatic flair that came with the speech a little too much. He briefly let go of your hand and reached over to wipe the runaway tear on your cheek. You didn't even realize it fell, but you didn't care either.
„You are my Serendipity,“ he continued. „I didn't go looking for you, but the universe put you right in front of my lens, and suddenly everything clicked into perfect focus. Every memory we've made, every quiet moment in your apartment or mine, every ridiculous inside joke, every tear dried for the other... it all led to this rooftop tonight.“
Now he let one of your hands slip free for something that's going to take longer than wiping a tear, but kept the other tightly clasped in his. He ran his thumb once along your knuckles, either for his own peace of mind or yours, you weren't sure. But it didn't do much to help calm your nerves. Not when his now-free hand slid into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. For a brief moment, you noticed his hand shaking, and it hit you just how nervous he actually is.
When he pulled his hand from his pocket, he held a small velvet box of deep blue, nearly black, color. Jimin held it with a caution that spoke volumes and you knew exactly what it held. You had your suspicion since he brought you on this rooftop, but still a small part of you thought this wa sall just an anniversary gift and speech. But now you understood it a lot better: it WAS an anniversary gift, just a bigger one than you anticipated. Jimin's eyes lited to yours and in them you could now see the the hope burning so strong it rooted you in your place.
„I don't want a few days or a few weeks or a few months,“ Jimin said, voice carrying so many emotions at once that you couldn't keep up anymore. „I want forever. I want every single sunrise in every time zone, Y/N, as long as I get to see it with you. I want to spend the rest of my life showig you how much you are loved.“
He finally took a deep breath, the kind that was for him and him only: simply to steady him in what he's about to do next. Even the wind didn't blow anymore, as if it paused to listen too. Jimin released your other hand now as well, but his fingers trailed your skin for as long as they could before falling away. Then he lowered himself onto one knee. The movement was unhurried and it futher cemented your convinction about what this was.
The polished stone beneath him reflected faint glimmers of the string lights overhead in tiny little orbs which now trembled in your blurred vision. This time truly nothing else mattered. Not the city of Seoul, not the thousands of tiny lights that resembled stars on land, not the traffic below. Truly nothing could take your focus off this single moment: the man you loved on one knee in front of you.
Your breath caught when he opened the small blue velved box. Its hinge gave a soft click, barely audible really, but for you it echoed like a bell. It revealed a single diamond ring, bright enough to challenge every star on the skyline. It was so beautiful and so your style. But then again, this was Jimin who choose it. He was a man who knew you inside out, of couse he would choose the best for you.
The world shrank down, but not in that way that felt incredibly small, more in a way that felt focused. And focused it was: on the ring, the box, his fingers that still trembled but he tried not to let it show, and most importantly, on the hope that was printed so openly on his face. You felt your chest tighten even more, and heard your own heartbeat loud and clear in your ears.
It felt like an hour had passed, but in reality, you two have been stuck in this moment for half a minute max. Your hands lew up to cover your mouth, purely to silence a sob that sounded more like a gasp. This time, you felt your tears fall and didn't try stopping them, as if you could, even if you did try. Your vision blurred comletely with the neverending tears that just wouldn't stop, and those fairy lights above stretched into long, trembling streaks.
Down on his one knee, Jimin still looked impossibly handsome, yet achingly vulnerable. There was tension in his shoulders, as if every muscle held back a rush of fear and hope, both at once. His eyes were fixed on you, bright but filled with unshed tears. He was holding back from breaking a lot better than you were right now. „Y/N,“ he began again and his voice cracked slightly, because now it was an evident show of his anxiety and love. He swallowed and tilted his head up just enough to catch your gaze. You stood there frozen, unable to will yourself to move or to even say anything. The only movement came from your chest rising and falling unevenly.
„Don't stand there looking like you're about to faint on me, jagiya,“ Jimin chuckled nervously. The laugh wasn't enough to cut down on the tension though, but it eased it even if just by a little.
He took a deeper breath for what felt like a hundreath time this night, and the seriousness settled back over him once more. „I know this is sudden, even though we've built a life that feels like forever already. But I can't wait another day. Every morning I wake up, the first thought is you. Everytime I finish a grueling schedule, the only place I want to be is next to you, watching bad documentaties, or just talking about what photo you want to take next.“
For the first time in a while, the wind made its presence known again, brushing his jacket and carrying the faint scent of those roses again. Jimin lifted the box just a fraction higher and the light bounced off the surface of the ring in a single flash.
„They say that love is about finding the one who completes you, but that's not right,“ he continued, growing more and more confident in his own words as the speech went on. „You don't complete me, Y/N. You challenge me. You make me want to be better, softer, stronger. You are the only person outside the group who can look at me, at Park Jimin, and see just Jimin. Just the boy who loves dancing so much his feet hurt, the man who still gets nervous before every performance, the man who simply wants to share a quiet life with the most extraordinary person he's ever known.“
A single tear finally slipped from his eye and rolled silently down his cheek, cutting a clean line along his perfect skin. The tear moved slowly, catching on the curve of his jaw before falling. He didn't even think of brushing it away, even for a moment. He didn't look away either, instead he remained holding your gaze.
„I promised you a life of adventures, but our greatest ones are going to be the small, mundane things. It's going to be fighting over what takeaway to order on a Tuesday. It's going to be about holding your hand while we walk out dogs one day. It's going to be sharing our triumphs and shielding each other from the rest of the world's noise. It's going to be sitting on a porch one day, old and wrinkled, and still laughing at some silly jokes.“
The breeze drifted around again, this time it pushed a stray lock of his golden hair across his forehead. But Jimin didn't lift a hand to fix it. Instead, he was too focused on holding the velvet box as steadily as he imagined himself to be at this most vulnerable moment.
He still held your gaze even though you could barely see him through your tears. „I wrote Serendipity for you, because every day with you feels like fate smiling down on me. You are my beautigul, unexpected cosmic gift. I love your sharp mind, your incredible talent for seeing the beauty that everyone else misses, your kindness, your loyalty, and the way you can somehow always calm my anxieties with just your presence and silence.“
„Y/N, I need you to be my partner in everything. My confidante, my best friend, my future. I want to build a real home, a future, a forever with you. Please give me the privilege of calling you my wife.“
His voice deepened, dripped with hope, fear, love all in one as he finally asked the ultimate question:
„Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?“
There, that question was finally out in the open. This whole night led to this exact moment when he would ask the question that carried the weight of an entire lifetime waiting for you. The silence that followed his last words was agonizing. It stretched longer than any pause in Jimin's speech yet. And then you dropped your hands from your mouth since there was no point in hiding your cries any longer. Oh, how sweetly your chest ached with how much love for him it carried. Your shoulders shuddered when you began crying without a care anymore. Despite that, you smiled widely.
Jimin still watched you with tension that his whole body mirrored, and he waited for that answer that will change everything you two so far knew in your shared life. He even had to fight an urge to reach for you, even though he wanted to so badly. But he held himself back, just a little longer, giving you space and time to process everything.
You didn't speak, not because you couldn't voice anything out, but because your body moved before you COULD voice anything. First, a vigorous shake of head, not meaning 'no', it was the universal gesture of being overwhelmed, instead. And then, you threw yourself forward and sank down to the ground beside your boyfriend. The sudden movement almost knocked him over.
Your arms wrapped around him instantly, not even giving him a chance to steady himself. Your tears, which you still didn't care enough to stop, soaked into his shoulder, and he didn't care either. Not when he could finally wrap his own arms around you too. He felt relieved when he could finally pull you in, and rest his cheek on the top of your head.
Finally, you pull away enough to look at him and give him the answer he's been waiting for. „Yes! Oh God, yes, Jimin!“ The words sound choked, as you weren't done crying yet. Your arms tightened around his neck, fingers curling at the back of his jacket. „Yes! A thousand times yes!“
Jimin finally let out a huge sigh. It felt like he was holding his breath from the moment you two arrived at this rooftop. In the heat of the moment, he dropped the velvet box, which clattered softly to the ground. He didn't care about anything else more than wrapping his arms around your waist comfortably and pulling you closer, if that was even possible.
He tilted his head back and laughed. It was a sound of pure triumph over the worry he felt this whole time. All the weight of the last few months of planning and anxiety lifted instantly. In its stead came this intoxicating joy. And all the while, in his embrace, he held the most precious person in his life.
But then he was the one pulling back to look at you, and lifted his hands to frame your own tear-stained face. Your cheeks were wet, but your lips curved into a smile. This wasn't a combo he thought he would like to see on you, but he'd rather you cry of happiness than tragedy. „Are you sure? Say it again,“ he commanded softly, wondering if picking up the ring box off the ground was worth it.
„Yes, Jimin.“ You confirmed, widening your smile. „I will marry you.“
With those words in mind, his eyes fell to your left hand, which now seemed awfully bare, in his opinion. And he finally scooped up the box and opened it again. Up until now, he's been prolonging the moment with his speech, but there was nothing to prolong anymore. Jimin knew that he had to see this ring on your finger. And he needed it now. Which meant that he didn't waste time in picking it out of the box and sliding it onto your awaiting finger. It was a perfect fit, of course it was, he was a perfectionist when planning every tiny detail.
The metal felt foreign on your skin at first. It felt cool against the heat of your hand, but it belonged there. The stone glimmered in the overhead light with every small movement of your hand. Even the simplest lift of your hand to look at it better made the diamond flare. You wondered that if there was any life in space, could they see it shining from this rooftop?
„It's beautiful,“ you whispered, still turning it slowly to watch the light dance.
Jimin didn't wait anymore. He simply leaned in and captured your lips with his, something he hasn't done too long, in his opinion. It shocked you, at first, but you returned with equal need. The kiss wasn't neat, far from it, actually. The urgency in this simple act was possibly too much to handle, but neither of you were ready to pull away. Jimin needed the relief of finally feeling relief, and you needed him and nothing else. His fingers slid into your hair, deepening your physical connection.
And your hands moved up to cup his face, and to wipe the tear tracks off his face with your thumbs. Happy or sad, tears were something you did not want to see on Jimin. His body was warm against yours and he held you so close that there was no room for doubt or a change of mind. This man was your man, now officially.
The kiss stretched on until both of you couldn't breathe. But the longer it laster, the softer it became, until he pulled away when you both needed air. His eyes met yours and you knew, certainly, that you would never regret this decision.
The daughter of a powerful politician lives a reckless, untouchable life until a steamy hook up with a man turns it into something she never imagined.
He is the mafia everyone fears, and she is the chaos he cannot control… or forget.Bound by a past only he remembers, his obsession with her turns into a dangerous game of pursuit. But she isn’t just a target—she’s a storm, a little unhinged, and the only one who might ruin him first.
Jimin’s father was the picture of lethal composure. Though his hair was silvered by age, he remained broad-shouldered and imposing, carrying a dangerous, predatory air that made Jimin’s temper look like a flickering candle compared to a forest fire.
You sat back down, your mind racing.
"What do you want?" you asked, forcing your voice to remain steady. You couldn't afford to show a single crack in your composure; in a room like this, weakness was an invitation for disaster.
Jimin’s father let out a dry, gravelly laugh. "Don't be so on edge, kid. I’m not your enemy. I’m well aware you have a... thing with my son. You both seem remarkably passionate."
Your cheeks burned at the implication, the memory of the hallway from the night before flashing through your mind like a fever dream.
"I never expected to see you again after that day," he mused.
Again? You frowned. When had he ever seen you before this? But before you could ask, you pressed on. "Why did you bring me here? What do you want from me?"
The man sighed, leaning back into the leather chair with a terrifyingly calm nod. "I want your help to pull the rug out from under your father."
You let out a sharp, incredulous scoff. "Excuse me?"
"Excused. And yes, you heard me correctly."
Your eyes widened at his dry humor. "My father? My father is a high-ranking government official with a spotless record. You, on the other hand, have a shadow behind everything you touch."
"Right. Then why do you fuck around with my son?" His bluntness was like a slap, making you bite your inner cheek to keep from snapping back. He chuckled at your silence. "And your father’s clean record? Who told you that fairy tale?"
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "Don’t even try to manipulate me, Sir. I’m not some innocent child you can trick with ghost stories."
"I see why my son is obsessed with you. You have the same vicious temper," the man hummed, crossing his legs and claiming the space with effortless dominance. "Now, back to business. Your father does the dirtiest work imaginable, all behind the polished shield of the government."
"W-what?" The sheer conviction in his tone made your voice falter.
"He’s a ghost, Y/n. He used to work for me, handling my dirty deals behind government until he decided to play the hero. He exposed my operations to clear his own path and sent me to jail. I bailed out, obviously. But now? He’s working for JAPS."
Every word felt like a physical blow to your chest.
"He’s their watchdog," he continued, his voice cold. "He ensures their drug shipments move through the ports without a single inspection. Tell me, what’s the difference between a man like me and a man like him?" He leaned forward and tossed a heavy file and a digital recorder onto the table. "Proof."
You lunged for the file, flipping through the documents. Bank statements, shipping manifests, signed authorizations... your stomach dropped. It was all there. Your father, the man who lectured you on ethics and reputation every single morning, was a traitor.
"There's more," Jimin’s father added, his eyes tracking your crumbling expression. "Be ready for the real news." He slid a thick manila envelope across the mahogany.
You tore it open, your breath hitching. Tears welled in your eyes instantly. "N-no... this isn't..."
"Yes. Your father is quite the romantic. This is his third long-term affair since you were born." You stared down at the glossy photos—your father, looking happy and relaxed, with a woman who wasn't your mother. You threw the pictures away in a fit of disgust, the images searing into your brain.
"Well, now tell me—"
"Enough, Dad!"
The heavy doors slammed open. Both of you jerked your heads toward the entrance. Jimin was standing there, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a lethal fury. He didn't say a word to his father; he marched straight to you, his hand snapping around your wrist like a shackle.
He dragged you out of the room before you could even protest. "Take her to the guest room!" he barked at a nearby guard, his voice shaking with rage. He shoved you toward the escort and slammed the heavy oak door in your face, locking himself inside with his father.
You stood in the silent hallway, the world as you knew it lying in shattered, ugly pieces at your feet.
Jimin slammed the door shut, the heavy thud echoing through the cavernous room. He turned on his father instantly, his eyes burning with a lethal intensity. He moved with the speed of a predator, closing the distance until he was towering over the older man’s desk.
"I don't care what you do to Kang," Jimin hissed, his voice trembling with restrained violence. "Burn his empire, ruin his name, I don't give a damn. But you stay away from Y/n. Don't you dare touch her!"
His father didn’t flinch. He simply leaned back, a cold, mocking smirk playing on his lips as he watched his son’s unraveling. "She really means that much to you? I didn't think a Park was capable of such... sentimentality."
"You hurt her just now!" Jimin’s voice was a jagged edge, composed yet vibrating with rage. "She didn't need to find out what a bastard her father is from you. Not like this."
"On the contrary, son, she was the missing piece," his father countered calmly, gesturing toward the door. "We can use her. Now that she knows her father is a hypocrite and a fraud, she’s the perfect weapon. She has access to his house, his study, his life. We let her pull the rug out from under him for us."
"It’s not happening!" Jimin roared.
He slammed his fist onto the mahogany table with enough force to make the heavy file of evidence jump. He leaned down, his face inches from his father’s, his shadow looming large against the wall.
"I’m saying this once, and I am not joking. Keep her out of your games. If you go near her again, if you try to use her, I will forget that we share the same blood. Do you understand? She is off-limits.”
°
You sat on the edge of the bed, the silence of the room ringing in your ears as you struggled to process the wreckage of your life. Your mother—the woman who looked at your father with such unwavering devotion—would be destroyed. The betrayal felt like a physical weight, making your hands tremble as you buried them in your hair.
The door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside. The air in the room seemed to soften instantly. She radiated a gentle warmth that felt entirely out of place in this house of iron and secrets. As she approached, a chill raced down your spine; she had the exact same piercing, soulful eyes as Jimin.
"I am Jimin’s mother," she said, her smile kind yet tinged with a strange nostalgia. "I never truly believed I would see you again."
"Again?" you asked, your voice weary. "Your husband said the same thing. When did we ever meet?"
She moved closer until she was standing directly in front of you, her gaze tracing your features. "You were so small, it’s only natural you don't remember. Your father was more than just an employee back then; our families were intertwined. Jimin was four when your mother was pregnant with you. He was obsessed with her—always following her around."
She let out a soft, melodic chuckle. "After you were born, you and Jimin were inseparable. A pair of little shadows. You’d spend every afternoon playing, pranking the staff... you were eight and he was twelve when the betrayal happened. Jimin didn't understand why his best friend was suddenly ripped away. He spent months asking for you."
The revelation hit you like a silent explosion. Jimin wasn't just a dangerous obsession; he was a piece of your lost history. A ghost from a childhood you’d been forced to forget.
She reached out, cupping your cheek with a motherly tenderness. "I knew the universe would bring you back to each other. He loves you, Y/n. More than he knows how to say. Now, stay here; I’ll bring you something to eat."
She slipped out, leaving you in a deafening silence. You searched your mind, desperate for a flash of memory—a shared toy, a laugh, a familiar face—but there was nothing but a void.
Suddenly, the door was yanked open with violent force. Jimin stormed in, his eyes dark with a protective, volatile fury. "Why the hell did you come here?"
You didn't flinch at his shouting. Instead, you looked at him—really looked at him—through the lens of what his mother had just told you. The possessiveness, the calls, the way he looked at you... it wasn't just lust.
It was a decade of suppressed longing. He was yours, and he was trying to shield you from the very world he belonged to.
"I didn't exactly RSVP, Jimin," you replied, crossing your arms and leaning back. "I was brought here by a fleet of SUVs. I thought it was you, but your father had other plans."
Jimin’s jaw tightened as he took in your nonchalant posture. "Stop it. Stop acting like you aren't bleeding inside from what he told you."
You had been hurt—sickened by your father’s infidelity and the lies he fed your mother. But now, looking at Jimin, a different emotion took over. You didn't want to cry; you wanted to burn the world down with him. A slow, defiant smile spread across your lips as you reached for your phone on the bed.
Jimin lunged forward, his hand snapping around your waist to yank you against his chest. "I mean it, Y/n. Don't agree to a single thing my father said. Don't let him use you. Stay out of this war."
The heat of his body pressed against yours was the only thing that felt real. You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair, and pulled his face down to yours. You kissed him deeply, a silent vow of your own.
"Sure," you whispered against his lips, your eyes sparking with a newfound fire. "Whatever you say, boyfriend.”
°
The taxi ride home was a blur of neon lights and simmering resentment. When you walked through the front door and saw your parents casually sipping tea together, the domesticity of it made you want to scream. Your father sat there, the picture of dignity, while you knew the filth he was hiding. You didn't say a word, only offering a sharp, cold scoff before disappearing upstairs.
That night, you lay in the dark, your thoughts drifting to Jimin. By any normal standard, his obsession—the years of searching, the stalking, the way he’d kept tabs on you—should have been terrifying. Instead, a dark thrill raced through you.
It was sickening, yes, but it was yours. In a world of fake smiles and political trades, Jimin’s hunger was the only thing that felt honest. He wouldn't just protect you; he would burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping you.
At midnight, you crept downstairs. The house was a tomb of shadows. You slipped into your father’s office, the click of the door sounding like a gunshot in the silence. Moving quickly, you began to dismantle his life. You photographed every ledger, every secret contract, and carefully tucked the listening device Jimin’s father had given you under the heavy mahogany desk.
You felt no guilt. You were unwanted here—a pawn in a game you never asked to play. With Jimin, you were the prize.
Parched, you retreated to the kitchen for water, but the sound of footsteps stopped you cold. Your mother stepped into the light, her silk robe trailing behind her like a shroud.
"What are you doing down here?" she asked, her voice tight.
You simply raised your glass in silent answer, but she didn't buy it. She stepped into your personal space, her eyes filled with a familiar, biting coldness. It was a look you’d seen your whole life—the look of a woman who viewed her own daughter as a nuisance rather than a child.
"End whatever pathetic thing you have going on with that Park boy," she hissed. "I’ve spent the week intercepting complaints from your university. Be grateful I was the one who heard them and not your father."
"Mom..." you started, the truth bubbling up in your throat. "You have no idea who he really is. You’re defending a man who works for—"
The slap was sudden and deafening. Your head snapped to the side, the sharp sting blossoming across your cheek like fire. You stood frozen, the silence in the kitchen ringing in your ears.
"Mom..." you whispered, your hand trembling as you touched your heating skin. She had never laid a hand on you before.
"Shut your mouth and go to your room," she commanded, her face a mask of iron. "Your father is finalizing your engagement to Doh-hyun for next month. You will not cause another scene. You will do as you are told."
Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall in front of her. You walked past her, the red mark on your face a burning reminder of where you stood. They wanted a doll? Fine. But they had no idea that their doll had just handed the keys to their kingdom to the devil himself.
°
The next morning, you didn’t reach for your textbooks. Instead, you packed a small bag with your essentials and hailed a taxi, giving the driver the only address that felt like an escape. You knew Jimin would be absolutely livid when he found out you’d returned to the lion's den, but you didn’t care. The bridge back to your old life was already in ashes.
The guards at the Park Estate looked stunned to see you standing there unescorted, but they didn't dare stop you. They led you straight to the study where Jimin’s father was buried in paperwork. He looked up, a silver brow arching in genuine surprise.
"I was under the impression my son made his stance on your involvement very clear," he noted, setting his pen down.
You sank into the chair opposite him, crossing your legs with a sharp, defiant smirk. "I’m not really one for following orders. I did what you asked. The listening device is active, and I have every file I could get my hands on right here." You slid your phone across the desk, the screen glowing with the evidence you’d captured in the dead of night.
He scrolled through the photos, a slow, predatory satisfaction spreading across his face. "You actually did it. Why the sudden change of heart?"
"Let's just say I’ve decided to move to a side where I’m actually valued, Father-in-law," you said, the bitterness in your voice cutting through the air like a blade. "I’m done being a pawn for a man who treats my mother like a fool and me like a bargaining chip. If she has to suffer when his world collapses, so be it. I’ve stopped caring."
Jimin’s father let out a booming laugh that echoed off the high ceilings. "I like you. You have a spine made of iron, though I suspect my son is going to lose his mind when he realizes you’ve ignored his warning."
"I can handle Jimin," you replied, standing up and smoothing out your skirt. You winked at him, a flash of the old-money arrogance you’d been raised with finally serving a purpose.
"Now, since I'm staying, which room is mine? And I’ll need a completely new wardrobe—clothes, makeup, the works. Only the best and most expensive, please. Your future daughter-in-law is incredibly high-maintenance, you see."
Amused by your audacity, the elder Park gave a slow, respectful nod to his guards. As you walked out of the study, you felt a strange sense of peace. You weren't a victim anymore; you were an accomplice. And you couldn't wait to see the look on Jimin's face when he realized his girl had officially joined the dark side.
°
The maids were already waiting for you as you stepped into the hallway, but it was Jimin’s mother who reached you first. Her smile was radiant, carrying a warmth that made your chest ache with a sudden, sharp longing for a mother who actually cared.
"Make yourself at home, dear," she murmured, patting your head with a tenderness you weren’t used to. "Jimin had to fly to Busan for an urgent meeting, but he’ll be back tonight. Just relax until then."
You offered her a genuine smile and a polite nod, watching her walk away before turning your focus to the staff. You singled out a woman in her late forties—Mrs. Kim, the head maid, whose posture was as stiff as her starch-white collar.
"Take me to Jimin’s room," you commanded, your voice cool and effortless.
Mrs. Kim stammered, her eyes widening in genuine shock. "The... the Young Master’s private quarters, Miss?"
"Did I stutter? I’ll be staying in his suite," you said, glancing down at your perfect manicure with a bored expression. "Lead the way."
You walked through the mansion as if you had designed the floor plan yourself, the heels of your shoes clicking rhythmically against the marble.
The maids trailed behind you like a royal retinue as you entered a separate wing of the estate—Jimin’s wing. It was vast, dominated by deep tones, expensive art, and an atmosphere that felt heavy with his specific, dark energy.
"Waa," you mused to yourself, tracing a finger along an antique console table. "I grew up with money, but old money really hits differently. I could get used to this."
Mrs. Kim opened the heavy double doors with a hesitant hand. "This is the Young Master’s bedroom, Miss."
You stepped inside, scanning the space. It was minimalist, sharp, and masculine—a little too bland for your taste, but a perfect canvas. "I like it. It needs a woman’s touch, though. Make sure all my new clothes, cosmetics, and essentials are delivered and organized by nightfall. Understood?"
Without waiting for an answer, you closed the door on their stunned faces.
By sunset, you had the entire mansion running on a loop. You had successfully turned the Park Estate into your personal playground. You were currently lounged on the edge of the massive bed while a junior maid frantically scribbled down your dinner preferences.
"Get me something cold to drink for now," you ordered, gesturing vaguely toward the door as you inspected a pair of designer heels from your new collection. "And make it quick."
Jimin’s mother had checked in on you once, seemingly delighted by your sudden presence and your bold spirit. You found yourself genuinely liking her; she was the softest part of this jagged, dangerous world.
You spent the evening eating a gourmet dinner in front of the massive TV in Jimin’s room, draped in a silk robe that cost more than your father’s last bribe. You were settled in, comfortable and pampered.
°
Jimin stepped out of the black sedan, his fingers already working the buttons of his dress shirt. The exhaustion was a physical weight on his shoulders—the early morning flight to Busan, back-to-back meetings, and the relentless pressure of the Park name had drained him.
All he wanted was a scalding shower and a call to you. He hadn’t heard your voice all day, and the silence was grating on his nerves.
"Tomorrow, you have a 9:00 AM briefing with the taxation department, sir," his assistant droned, trailing behind him as they entered the mansion.
"Leave," Jimin ordered, his voice a sharp, final blade.
He moved toward his private wing, his mind already drifting to the apology he owed you for his father's behavior. But when he pushed open his bedroom doors, he stopped dead.
The room was a minefield of luxury. Designer shopping bags were strewn across the armchairs, high heels were lined up by the ottoman, and the vanity was cluttered with expensive makeup.
"What the...?"
He followed the sound of rustling coming from his walk-in closet. He stepped inside, his heart stopping when he saw you. Your hair was damp, smelling of his expensive shampoo, and you were wearing nothing but one of his oversized black T-shirts that hung loosely off your shoulders.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, his jaw so tight it looked ready to snap.
You turned around slowly, your eyes scanning him with a slow, deliberate appreciation. "Fuck, Jimin. You look devastatingly hot with that shirt unbuttoned."
"Y/n! I told you to stay away! I told you—"
"Shhh." You stepped close, pressing a single finger against his lips to kill the protest. "I’m staying here. Moving in with my in-laws. It’s a bit sooner than planned, but I like the vibe."
Jimin stared at you in pure disbelief, his hands hovering near your waist but not quite touching. "Don't tell me you actually accepted my father’s offer? You did what he asked?"
"I did," you said, tilting your head and meeting his gaze with a defiant spark. "I chose you over my family. I chose the side that actually wants me. Why aren't you happy about it?"
"Because you shouldn't be involved in this bloodbath, Y/n! It's dangerous, it's filthy, and it's—"
"Right. And when were you planning to tell me that you’ve been stalking me since I was in pigtails?" You walked past him into the bedroom and pulled a stack of photos from a drawer. "Look what I found in your 'private' collection."
Jimin’s eyes darkened. "You went through my things?"
The photos were a timeline of your life—your high school graduation, candids from your birthdays, and two faded, worn pictures from childhood. In one, a little girl stood beside a boy in matching yellow raincoats, splashing in the mud with toothy grins. It was you and Jimin.
"I’m done being protected like a porcelain doll," you said, tossing the photos onto the bed before climbing onto the mattress yourself. You stretched out against the silk sheets, letting out a soft moan as the comfort hit your tired muscles. "I want to marry you. End of discussion. I left my home and betrayed my father for you. You’re stuck with me."
Jimin ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated, guttural sound escaping his throat. He looked at you—half-naked in his bed, looking like a dream and acting like a nightmare. He didn't say a word. He just turned on his heel and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He was completely done, caught between the urge to scream and the terrifying realization that he had finally gotten exactly what he wanted.
°
The next morning, the dining hall was a cavern of heavy, uncomfortable silence. The only sounds were the soft clink of silver against porcelain and the steady tick of the grandfather clock. Jimin’s mother kept darting nervous, curious glances between you and her son, trying to gauge the temperature of the room.
Jimin’s father, seemingly amused by the tension, caught your eye and tilted his head toward Jimin.
‘Is he still mad?’ he mouthed, a subtle glimmer of a smirk on his face.
You simply shrugged in response. Jimin hadn’t returned to the suite last night—presumably opting for a guest room or his office—and honestly, you weren't complaining. You’d spent the night sprawled out across his massive, high-thread-count bed, enjoying the luxury of having the entire space to yourself.
"Can you three stop?" Jimin’s voice cut through the air like a whip. He slammed his chopsticks onto the table, the sharp clack echoing off the high ceilings.
You immediately cleared your throat and fixed your gaze on your tea, fighting the urge to smirk.
"Jimin, honey," his mother chimed in, her tone sweet but insistent. "Since you're both here, why don't you take the day to show Y/n around the estate? It’s a lot to take in."
Jimin’s face remained a mask of cold, unreadable stone. He stood up abruptly, adjusting the cuffs of his blazer and buttoning his suit jacket with clinical precision. "I have a company to run. I don't have time to play house right now."
You let out a dry, audible scoff as he turned on his heel and strode out of the room without a backward glance. The Young Master was clearly throwing a tantrum, and you were enjoying every second of it.
Taking a deliberate, calm bite of your breakfast, you looked up at the elders and offered a reassuring nod. "Don't worry about him," you said, your voice dripping with newfound confidence. "I’ll deal with him. He just needs to realize I’m not going anywhere.”
Previous chapter Next chapter
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A/n : If you want to be tagged, please make sure you have enabled your tag option for your account. I tried some accounts but it's not working.
Her father’s death was ruled an accident. She calls it opportunity.
When she and her mother push the powerful Park family for compensation, they expect control but Jimin, the heir, doesn’t bend. He investigates her instead.
What begins as a simple encounter turns into a quiet war, each of them holding truths that could destroy the other.
So he offers her a choice: Disappear… or marry him which is a solution neither of them wants, but both might need.
✿ Rating: 18+ (if you’re minor skip)
✿ Pairings: CEO heir!! Park Jimin x reader
✿ Genre/Trope: Contract Marriage!! Power imbalances!! Slow burn!! Mutual Blackmail!! Smut!! Enemies to lovers (90% enemies)!! Forced proximity!!
✿ Warning: This story contains trauma, grief, violence, mentions of sexual assault (not involving the male lead), and mature sexual content.
A/n : I missed a day so made it worth a while I hope sorry for the delay!!
🫧🫧🫧
She bad and her head bad
Escaping, her van is a Wonderland
And it's half-past six
Read skies 'cause time don't exist
But when the stars shine back to the crib
Superstar lines back at the crib
And we can test out the tables
We got some brand new tables
All glass and it's four feet wide
But it's a must to get us ten feet high
She give me sex in a handbag
I get her wetter than a wet nap
🫧🫧🫧
House of balloons/ Glass table girls - The Weeknd
Your head rests on your mother’s lap as her fingers move slowly through your hair, gentle for once. Too gentle. “You could insure it,” she murmurs, like this is normal. “After everything I’ve done for thirty years with that man… you owe me at least that.” You don’t respond, your eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling above you. Thirty years with a demon, and somehow, you were the one who paid for it. You never understood her you never understood how she could look at you and not see what had been taken, what had been used. Your father gambled everything away, drank through what was left, and when there was nothing else to give, you became the solution.
You remember being thirteen, curled in pain from your first cramps, searching for something to numb it, only to find something else hidden deep in her cupboard a powder, carefully tucked away like a secret she thought you were too naive to notice.
She was never fully there after that. Not when it mattered. Not when you needed her. She played the part of a mother just enough to survive judgment, but never enough to love you properly. And love you don’t even know what that looks like.
Which explains him. Your ex. A liar wrapped in soft words and empty promises, whispering things you were stupid enough to believe, touching you like it meant something when it didn’t. You thought it was real. You thought he was real. Until Valentine’s Day, until you found him with someone younger, someone easier. Your chest tightens at the memory, and you sit up abruptly.
“I’m going to get ready…” you mutter, your voice flat. She hums absentmindedly, already somewhere else in her own head.
You reach for your phone and see three missed calls from Jimin. You roll your eyes before calling back, letting it ring three times before he answers.
“Oh,” he mutters, voice low, edged with sarcasm. “So you do know how to use a phone.”
There’s movement on his end there’s fabric shifting, something soft brushing against the microphone, a quiet breath that doesn’t belong to him. Your jaw tightens instantly. You don’t need to see it to understand it. The faint rhythm in the background, the way his voice dips in and out of focus, like his attention is split between you and something or someone else. You close your eyes briefly, steadying yourself. “I see I called at the wrong time.”
A quiet chuckle slips through the line, amused, unbothered. “You’ve got sharp ears,” he says. “But that’s not the issue. You ignored me.”
You walk into your room, dropping onto your bed, staring at the wall like it might keep you grounded. “I was busy. I don’t jump every time you call.” There’s a pause, a soft exhale from his end, followed by a faint sound that makes your stomach twist in irritation. He doesn’t even bother hiding it. “You really know how to kill a mood,” he mutters.
“I don’t live to fix yours,” you shoot back, your voice colder now.
Another pause, longer this time, followed by a quiet command…“Leave.” A muffled protest, then movement, fabric shifting again, a door closing somewhere in the background. Silence replaces the noise, and when he speaks again, his voice is sharper, cleaner, entirely focused. “I’m sending a driver. Don’t bother getting ready. I’ll have that handled.”
You gag slightly at the tone. Outside, kids are shouting, their laughter too loud for this hour, scraping against your already frayed nerves. You walk to the door and yank it open. “Go home!” you snap, your voice cutting through the night. They scatter immediately, muttering apologies as they grab their worn-out bikes. You shut the door harder than necessary, leaning against it for a second before lifting the phone again. “And for the record,” you say, your voice tight, “I agreed to marry you. Not become your fucking doll.”
Silence answers you at first. “That’s where you’re wrong.” His voice drops, colder than before. “The second you tried to drag my family through the dirt, you showed exactly what you are,” he says. “And the moment you agreed to marry me?” A pause. “You sold yourself.” Your grip tightens around the phone.
“So don’t confuse this with choice,” he continues. “You don’t get those anymore.” You hang up before he can say anything else, your chest rising and falling unevenly.
The shower is too short, the water too cold, your thoughts too loud. You change into jeans and a t-shirt, waiting by the window until the car arrives. When it does, it feels unreal a matte grey Bentley, sleek and silent, the kind of car you’ve only ever seen in magazines. You slide inside carefully, like you don’t belong touching anything in it.
The drive stretches long, the city slowly fading into something cleaner, richer, untouchable. The houses grow larger, the streets quieter, until the gates appear they’re massive, black and guarded. Armed men stand on either side, wires curling behind their ears, eyes sharp and watchful. A card is scanned, the gates open, and your breath catches.
A fountain greets you first, water spilling in controlled, perfect patterns, like even nature is disciplined here. To the right, open land stretches out beneath dim lighting; to the left, a garden trimmed so precisely it doesn’t feel real. Workers move quietly in the background, efficient, invisible.
The car stops in front of the mansion, and for a second, you forget how to move. It’s not just a house, it’s a statement
Dark stone, towering glass windows glowing with warm light, every detail deliberate, expensive, unreachable. You step out slowly, your shoes barely making a sound against the ground.
A maid approaches, dressed in modest black, her expression calm but tired. “Follow me,” she says softly, and you do. Inside, the house is just as overwhelming with a high ceilings, soft ambient lighting, minimalistic but suffocatingly expensive. It doesn’t feel lived in. It feels displayed.
“East wing,” she says. “Third room.” You walk upstairs, your steps slower now, and open the door.
The dress stops you cold. Cream silk, draped perfectly across the bed, the fabric soft and fluid, catching the light in a way that makes it look almost liquid. The neckline dips low, elegant but bold, while the waist cinches just enough before falling smoothly down, hugging your body in all the right places. Beside it sit heels with blood red soles, glossy, unmistakable.
For a moment, your chest tightens, a memory flashing through your mind. A younger version of you, holding up a magazine, eyes bright. “Mommy, I want these!” You blink, forcing the memory away.
“Sit,” a voice snaps, pulling you back. The stylist moves quickly, hands already on you before you can react. Time blurs with makeup brushed onto your skin, your hair straightened and shaped into soft, controlled waves that frame your face perfectly. When you stand again, you barely recognise yourself. You look expensive. Like you belong somewhere better.
Downstairs, Jimin is waiting. He sits like he owns the room, his charcoal suit tailored to perfection, vest fitted snug beneath his jacket, tie sharp against his collar. A cigar rests between his fingers as he glances up, his eyes scanning you once before he looks away. “You finally look like you belong,” he says, his tone flat, double-edged. Not a compliment. Never a compliment.
You expected a press conference. Cameras. Statements. Something controlled. Instead, the car brings you to a gala with lights spilling across polished floors, music humming through the air, laughter echoing from people who have never had to worry about anything real. Your stomach drops as you step inside. “What the hell is this?” you mutter, your voice low. Jimin’s hand slides to your waist, firm, unyielding.
“Smile,” he murmurs, close enough for only you to hear. “Or I’ll make you.” You freeze, then force a smile onto your face, one that feels foreign but looks perfect.
People notice immediately. Whispers ripple through the room, eyes following the two of you. “Is that—?” “Park Jimin?” “Who is she?” His grip tightens slightly as he leans closer. “Kiss my cheek,” he says under his breath. “Absolutely not—” His fingers press harder into your waist.
“Do it.” You do. Applause rises somewhere nearby, cameras flashing, capturing something that isn’t real.
His friends gather, smirking, amused. “Didn’t think you’d settle down,” one of them says. Jimin rolls his eyes. “She’s not a pet.” “Could’ve fooled me,” another mutters. Your jaw tightens, but before you can react, Jimin speaks again, smooth and effortless. “I’m marrying her.” The reaction is immediate surprise, curiosity, interest. He leans down then, his lips brushing against your neck in a way that feels far too intimate for something fake. “I’m in love with her,” he adds, his voice convincing enough to fool anyone listening.
You hate how real it sounds.
His mother appears later, composed and elegant, her eyes sharp as they settle on you. “So this is the girl,” she says, her tone measured. You bow slightly. “Yes, ma’am.” She studies you for a moment too long. “We’ll discuss you later.” His father barely spares you a glance. “Handle your mess,” he mutters to Jimin. “I am,” Jimin replies, unbothered.
By the time you’re back in the car, the silence feels heavier than anything else. You turn to him, anger finally breaking through. “You don’t have to touch me like that,” you snap. “We’re faking this, not—” He moves before you can finish, grabbing your jaw and pulling you into a kiss that isn’t gentle, isn’t soft, it’s control, dominance, a reminder of exactly where you stand. When he pulls back, your breathing is uneven, your chest tight.
“I’m a man with needs,” he says quietly, his hand still at your neck. “You’re my fiancée.” A pause. “That includes this.”
All rights reserved to @inkh3art , 2026. Do not copy, repost or translate.
Synopse: Jeon Jungkook want to take a rest, a little rest from his fast moving life. To find where his peace belongs, to find where he belongs.
Genre: slow burn, childhood friends to lover? Angst.
Pairing: idol Jungkook × oc
"Thank you.” the girl laughed as she clutched the sheets in her chest. Jungkook nodded his head in acknowledgement as he signed another autograph, “thank you, have a nice day.” his fans said, blushing, beaming from meeting their favourite person.
“day?” he teased, receiving giggles from them. Jeon Jungkook was surrounded by his fans late at night on the streets of Seoul, “i-i mean night.” She blushed and bowed her head, smiled more, feeling herself melting when Jungkook laughed.
“Thank you, all happy and healthy, okay?” He looked at them with his doe eyes,giving them his genuine wishes, and they felt their admiration was not one-sided.
They nod their head, laugh and wish him as well and bid their goodbye.
Jungkook turned around the corner, where his friend was standing, waiting for him at the bench, looking at his phone, from a restaurant they're planning to eat dinner from. “The shop is already closed.” Jungkook stopped in his step, “oh!” He felt his stomach drop, sitting beside his friend, he sighed, stretching his legs.
“I take my time when I meet my fans.” Jungkook looked at the empty street, he noticed how the light of the bulb hid the twinkle of stars, how the wind felt more cold now he felt relaxed and tired, how the silence felt more empty.
Jihoon put his phone in his pocket, “our kookie have millions of admirers, peoples all around the world get inspired from you, they support you, Jungkook.” He smiled and looked on the road as well, laying against the mirror window of the shop.
Jungkook sighed, closing his eyes, feeling the cold breeze touching his skin.
–
“You lost the melody at last.” Yoongi highlighted the part on the sheet as Jungkook focused on the words. “sing again.” Yoongi went back, sit on the chair in front of the recorder as Jungkook put his headphones back on his ears.
He sang again, the pitch, the rhyme, and again the song but when Yoongi sighed he felt his heart break into pieces, does his hyung not be satisfied by his voice, does he fail him?
“One last time, last chorus, third line, okay.” Yoongi's voice echoed in the studio and Jungkook was just able to give him a short nod of his head, too ashamed to lock him in his eyes.
He takes a deep breath, trying to relax his voice. His eyes traces the words to words on sheet, feeling it, touching it, Jungkook try to put the emotion from him to the words on sheets, and when he sing the last part Yoongi held his thumbs up in the air indicating him that he did well but does Jungkook felt he did his good? No.
He felt his voice was stuck in his throat.
After listening to the recording and monitoring it, getting a compliment from the producer, he felt the studio with his backpack on the shoulder then the building and in the car.
After getting in the elevator he pushes the button, hands in his pants pocket, he exits it when it opens on his floor. Entering through the door and into the living room Jungkook slumped on the couch.
“What's wrong?” Jin asked, turning to look at him, as he felt pushed by him on the couch, from the video game he was playing since morning on television.
“Nothing….. it's … it's just .” Jungkook stumbles staring at the ceiling and Jin pretends he was not too focused on his words, “it's just?” He asked, concerned to fill in his tone but he didn't turned to look at him this time, giving him a space he thinks Jungkook needs.
“The recording was good, and I'm just tired.” Jungkook crossed himself and turned against the television.
“I'll make some food for you.” Jin paused his game and stood from his position, looking at him, Jin thought when he felt comfortable enough to share his problem, but for now he gave whatever Jungkook wanted and he went into the kitchen to make soup of tteokbokki with noodles.
“He needs only two or three hours to record any type of song, Hyung.” Yoongi folded his clothes as Jin hummed from bed, looking at him, “and today?”
“Six to seven hours and it was a little bad actually.” Yoongi sighed as he stacked his shirt in order, and looked ahead at Jin, “you know from how versatile range he has, it was not that level today.” Jin bit the inside of his lips when Yoongi stood to put his clothes back inside in the wardrobe.
“I think he has something he doesn't want to talk about.” Yoongi looked at jin as he now sit cross leg on bed now, he hummed getting inside in comforter, “he will tell when he felt the need to, for now we should just trust him.” Yoongi mumbled at him as he adjusted his pillow.
Jin sighed, getting off from bed and walking towards the door, switching off the lights, “good night yoongs.” He said receiving a mumbled night in return.
–
Jungkook put his phone on the table, his mind occupied by his manager's words, separate apartment, other buildings, new house, he still had to find it. His eyes find the game on shelves, the game cd he wants to play with Taehyung but how he was busy with his moving out things.
He left the room and walk over the balcony, everything is change, his Hyung want to leave away from each other, his voice felt stuck in his throat, he had to find a new apartment where he can safely live, the bad guide recording today, it was too much, for him.
Jungkook was not ready for all these things.
When he tried to sing again in the middle of night, in between the twinkling stars, and around the cold breeze, his voice felt broken again.
It was bothering him, the passion he has for singing was bothering him now, and his chest felt empty now, air get stuck in his throat as he struggle to breathe, he grabbed his throat trying to breathe in but fell hard on the floor, gasping for air he whimper and cry and cry for help, for his brothers, to help him, to heal him.
“Hey… hey buddy.” Jin put his head on his lap as Jungkook cried, grabbing his throat, Yoongi gave him a water bottle sitting beside him, as Hoseok rubbed his feet. “It's okay, it's okay, everything will be okay.” Jin chanted the soothing words to him, as his hand continuously patted on his head.
Jimin and Taehyung stand on the door too scared to go near him and too much care to let the elders handle the things, Namjoon isn't able to think what's wrong but stand behind them to hand whatever they need to calm his younger brother.
Jungkook's glossy eyes find them as he cry harder now, curling himself in small he buried his face in Seokjin thigh, he cry for everything, for separating from his Hyung, for can't able to feel singing, for his life back in busan.
–
“You need a break, Jungkook.” Namjoon held his hand as Jungkook sniffled softly, looking at the floor, tears falling from his eyes and landing on the floor, his older brother whimpering at the sight.
“I…I don't think.”
“Yes you do.” Jin firmly said, letting him know he was in no position to talk back at now. “You need a vacation, take a little rest then come back to us, okay.”
Jungkook cried at his words, hiding his face behind his hands and his band mates let him cry to his heart.
And when Jungkook curled under the comforts on Jin bed, he rubbed his head to soothe until Jungkook fingers left namjoon hands, they switched off the light and closed the door letting Jin take care of their younger member.
Synopse: Jeon Jungkook want to take a rest, a little rest from his fast moving life. To find where his peace belongs, to find where he belongs.
Genre: childhood friends to lover? Angst, slow burn.
Pairing: idol Jungkook × oc
Jungkook crouches over the toiled seat, emptying his gut.
The gurgling sound of vomit surround him as he vo it his meal and drink from previous hour. He pant, loosing his breath at gag, tear picked at corner of his eyes, mouth open for air but he struggle again, lifting his body up and flushing toilet, he stand infront of mirror.
Splashing water on his cold face and washing his mouth, he breath in and out, steady himself by clutching tightly on corner of sink, wet hair stuck on his forehead and he made no attempt in drying his face.
After dragging himself to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and took out a cold water bottle, letting the cold calm his heated body. When he put the bottle on the table a drop of water from his cheeks dropped on his lips and he felt it from his lips to his naked chest, Jungkook sighed.
“Fucking idiot, talking about things he doesn't know about, doesn't relate to him, fucking idiot person.” He cursed and cursed him. Jungkook won't admit it but he thinks he is scared? Slightly or more? But he is scared now. And he wasn't going to admit it, to feel on his tongue, he wasn't going to admit it.
–
Hussed laughter and mumbled voice stirred him, and he peeked his eyes to look around, cheeks swollen and eyes red he mouth agape opened when he found a huge wall size portrait in front of him. After looking around in his sleepy form, he sat straight, finding himself on the couch and he was reminded how he was tired enough to sleep here instead of his bedroom.
“What did you say, again?” Jin yelled at him in shock and Taehyung laughed nervously. Jungkook peered from behind the portrait as it was resting against his foot end couch facing his back at him and front at the others. He stood and walked towards them when he wasn't able to from behind the picture.
It was a painting of red flower and naked piece of dog and a child with
“I bought an apartment.” Taehyung said, and Jungkook's sleepy state throw out from the closed windows.
“Dude.” Jimin murmured, shaking his head as he went and slumped against the sofa on the carpet ground. Jungkook looked back at the painting. “Why it's here? Is someone gifted to you?”
“No, I brought it.” Taehyung explained. “But we don't have a place for it.” Jin said, pointing at the painting and both other youngsters nod their heads.
“And that's why I bought a new apartment.” Taehyung laughed again and held his piece, putting it against the balcony gate now.
“But you didn't tell us before?” Jimin said, fidgeting with the remote as he feels confused about what should watch on television or what Taehyung is going to do now.
“So you moving out? And where is Hyung?” Jungkook looked around and Jimin wanted to stop the answer from hearing Taehyung speak, “Yes and they were still sleeping.”
“Do they know?” Jin asked, sitting on the couch, looking at him. “Only Namjoon Hyung knows, as I kind of want his permission.” Jin nods his head and ruffles his hair, “we talk when they get up okay.” And his younger friends hummed in agreement.
–
Jungkook stared at the screen, glaring at the loser words, beside him laughing Taehyung getting choked on his fries, “I didn't expect to win over you this easy, man.” He coughs and coughs, and Jungkook gulps his urge to pat on his back.
“Let's play again.” Jungkook grabbed the controller, his mind felt fogged, body heated, a slight sting of water in his eyes, he felt scared, why he wasn't able to focus on the game, he had been trying for hours but failed again and again, from past week, he has been trying to fit in his present.
“Did you guys see your schedule list?” Yoongi asked, turning his phone off and checking the soup he had been preparing. “What schedule? I didn't.” Hoseok paused in his track at mid cutting vegetables, before grabbing his phone and sighing high. “Damn dude.”
“Yeah.” Yoongi nodded, putting noodles in soup.
Taehyung pays no attention to their talk as he feels content in winning over Jungkook after getting beaten ten times in the past few months. And Jungkook found his breath quickening at the words. “Fuck.” He mumbled.
Taehyung can sense the shifting pattern in them, and he just wishes they understand him, as always they do.
When the car stopped at their company building, Taehyung was first to leave them behind as he ran towards the restroom to free the liquid that had been stored in his ball for the past ten minutes.
Others members exit with a silent chaos, heavy with unsaid words but lighter with unsaid trust they have.
“we really have to do it?” Hoseok asked, his serious gaze put the manager at edges.. They were in the middle of dance practice when the manager came, the band mates wanted to talk to him, thus Namjoon gave him a call.
“Yes, I know you all are like brothers now, but it's okay if you want your own space, your own home.” Manager sighed, looking at their faces as he continued, “but as your group is successful and in very high demand, we can now afford to give you all your own freedom, unless there are no controversies or problems for the company being envolved, you all have to take responsibilities of your space now.”
The band mates nodded their heads and few remained silent, after the manager left them. They scatter around to sit and drink some water, so their brain can store the new information.
“I think it's time for ourselves, as in time to identify and find who we all are besides our group members.” Namjoon, being the leader of their group, tried to understand the new route to them, but felt silence after receiving no words from them.
“it was congested, i cant buy or put new things anymore. I want to have things that reflect me, and I want to understand myself more. I’m sorry if you’re all disappointed in me.” Taehyung said, glaring at his own hands, he felt disappointed, and selfish that he was being first to suggesting living away from each other but he felt suffocated, he felt he know nothing about himself what he wants what he needs and he do not want to bothered anyone else because of him.
Seokjin sighed, and put his palm flat in front of him, “we all are family, and it doesn't need to be proven by living together all the time, isn't it?” Yoongi chuckled, putting his hand on him, and others followed with a little laugh, “so cheesy Hyung.” Hoseok laugh.
But Jungkook, staring at their hands he felt obligated, not sure if he wanted to get separated from them or not.
–
Jungkook moves his body, hold his breath and sing his part, he moves fast, slow, fast, sing, breath, and sing. This was his routine from past week, under strict and scary gaze, under pressure and pleasing gaze, that was his routine of his life.
Jungkook pant and pant, laying flat on dance floor, he felt suffocated, he bend his body and closed his eyes trying to breathe in and out, it was slow but he felt he his panicked go away and he sit up again.
The heavy breath and smell of sweat from his band mates filled the practice room, he felt claustrophobic from his exhausted mind. But he didn't complain, this was the life he choose, he desire, he want, he don't deserve to complaint for this routine.
Jungkook wouldn't complaint wouldn't tell anyone how suffocated, how much claustrophobic he felt nowadays.
He had to bear it, he had to bear this routine.
But why did he felt so hollow?
How do these fast moving things feel a burden to him?
Why singing and dancing letting him feel exhausted? Why did he feel he was doing his job rather than enjoying his passion?
Now standing on big stage in America, receiving awards for his group, he felt his limbs go number, his excitement go down.
Jungkook doesn't feel he deserves to stand on this stage.
In between his band mates.
But, isn't this what he wants? These are the things he desires, his brothers receiving their hard work awards, his fans being happy and satisfied with their music, people's appreciation and respect for his band?
And when the shouting and Happy fans chant their names, Jungkook thought he wasn't being loyal to them. this is not what he wants, this is not how he wants to give back the love he received.
When he doesn't feel joy in his performance, in his signing. When he doesn't feel he did his best. When he doesn't feel he pleases others with his singing.
When Jungkook isn't able to enjoy his own singing, lyrics and dance, how he wants others to enjoy and be appreciated towards him.
