#kook

[socialjusticeinamerica]

[rafesbabydollsblog]

Season 2 Rafe on top!!!

[xxboomiex]

FERAL THINGS DON'T BELONG INSIDE II PART 15 [IN PROGRESS] Bunny Hybrid! Jungkook

Parts: P1 | P2 I P3 | P4 | P5 | P6 | P7 | P8 | P9 | P10 | P11 | P12 | P13 | P14 | P15 | P16 |

DESCRIPTION:

You never planned on taking in a hybrid. Especially not one like him.

You offer him food. A place to stay. Rules.

He offers you obedience. Tension. Trouble.

Because hybrids like him don't know how to exist without earning their place and you're about to learn that kindness, to someone like Jungkook, can feel just as dangerous as cruelty.

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: : pairing: Bunny Hybrid! Jungkook x reader

: : genre: Hybrid AU, Angst-driven Romance

: : warnings: alcohol use, drug use, mutual pining, violence mentions of abuse, cursing, fluff, angst, smut, jealousy, emotional trauma, hurt/comfort, dehumanisation themes

: : word count: chapter: 9.8k | Total: 111,9k [for now]

ao3 link: Link

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A/N: if you're here for emotional damage, slow-burn tension and a little bit of chaos-then yeah. let's go this fic is messy in all the ways: hurt, comfort, trust issues, anc a hybrid who doesn't really know how to be safe even when he finally is.

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PART 15

The afternoon sun filters through the blinds of the living room, casting a bright, unforgiving light on a reality you are entirely unprepared to handle. You harbored the naive, wishful thinking that a night of relentless, bruising passion on the cold shower floor would have finally broken the back of Jungkook’s unmedicated heat. You genuinely thought it would be a single, exhausting moment of survival, and then his system would level out.

You were dead wrong.

Since the exact moment you opened your eyes, his neediness, his horniness, his suffocating possessiveness, and every single primal instinct ending in —ness has returned with a terrifying, exhausting vengeance.

He hasn’t let you breathe. He hasn’t let you move. You are supposed to be having a relaxing afternoon on the sofa, finally capitalizing on that three-month free trial of Netflix to watch some mindless romantic comedy, but the television screen is currently just playing background noise to your own personal, high-stakes drama.

Right now, you are sitting upright against the backrest of the couch, completely pinned under Jungkook as he straddles your lap. His thighs anchor him securely over your legs, completely bracketing your hips against the cushions. He has been in this exact position for twenty agonizing, intoxicating minutes, and for those entire twenty minutes, he has not left your mouth. 

He is wearing your oversized knit sweater, the plush fabric swallowing his shoulders and the sleeves bunched loosely around his forearms, creating a sweet, domestic frame that makes his raw, physical dominance look deceptively soft.

But there is nothing soft about the way he is consuming you. It isn't just a kiss; it is a ruthless, velvet aggression that leaves you completely paralyzed beneath him. His lips, heavy, slick with saliva, and tasting distinctly of the sweet chocolate buns he wolfed down for lunch, bruise mercilessly against yours. He is dominating your mouth with a desperate, rhythmic suction, his hands fisted tightly into your hair to tilt your head back against the sofa cushions, angling your throat so you have no choice but to take the full depth of his hunger. Every time you try to gasp for air, he swallows the sound down his own throat, turning your oxygen into a hot, wet moan that vibrates directly into your chest.

Suddenly, his grip shifts, his fingers digging into your jaw to hold you perfectly still. He pulls back just a fraction of an inch, his dark, blown-out pupils locked onto your trembling lips.

“Put your tongue out,” he orders with the effortless arrogance of a hybrid who knows exactly how much power he has over you.

When you hesitate, your breath catching in your throat, his grip on your jaw tightens just enough to enforce his will. You part your lips, tentatively peeking the tip of your tongue out, and Jungkook lets out a needy, dark rumble from the back of his throat. He doesn't wait. He leans down and catches your tongue directly between his lips, sucking on it with a slow, torturously hot pressure, pulling it deeper into his own mouth to thoroughly steep you in his hunger, making you feel the demanding, slick heat of his mouth as he swallows you in. The sheer intimacy of it makes your hands fist into the fabric of his oversized sweater, your hips involuntarily twitching beneath his weight.

Taking advantage of your compliance, Jungkook rolls his pelvis down against yours, a heavy grind that rubs his arousal right against your thigh. The sudden movement sends a jolt of heat straight to your core, and he groans into your mouth, his hips rolling again, pushing you deeper into the backrest. He is playing a dangerous game, using his body to deliberately horny you up, trying to drown your common sense in pure pleasure.

Your chest is heaving, your lungs screaming for oxygen, and your mind is completely fried from the sensory overload. Gathering the absolute last remnants of your strength, you flatten your palms against his chest and push with everything you have. It takes a considerable amount of effort, but you manage to force some distance between your faces, breaking the wet seal of his lips.

Jungkook blinks down at you from his perch on your lap, looking half-confused and half-dazed, his head tilting slightly as if his heat-addled brain cannot comprehend why you would ever want to separate from him.

His face is flushed, though thankfully, the scorching fever from last night hasn't returned yet. His lips are incredibly plump, severely swollen, and a deep, bruised crimson from twenty minutes of unyielding friction—matching your own lips, which are so numb and tender you can barely feel them anymore.

"That's it," you pant out, breathless, and completely exhausted. "That is it, Jungkook. No more."

Jungkook stares at you for a beat, his heavy eyelids fluttering. He lifts the back of his hand, slowly wiping the wet sheen of saliva from his swollen, chocolate-tasting lips, his dark eyes never leaving yours. Then, his face completely drops into a pout.

"You're being mean," he whines, the sound contrasting sharply with his petulant tone. He slumps his upper body forward, intentionally burying his heavy chest against yours, making you groan under his massive weight where you sit pinned against the coach support.

"I am not being mean, I am trying to survive," you wheeze, your hands resting on his shoulders to keep him from diving back down to your mouth. "I am so tired, Kook. We spent hours in the shower yesterday, you woke me up with a morning boner that I already had to deal with, and now you’re trying to eat my face again when we were supposed to be relaxing."

"Because you taste soo good," he grumbles stubbornly, shifting his hips just enough to rub his length against you again from where he sits high on your lap. A dark, possessive spark flashes in his dazed eyes. "And you're mine. My heat isn't done. You're supposed to take care of me, Y/N."

"I am taking care of you! But my lips are literally numb. I need a break." you argue, exasperated.

Jungkook notices the trouble you have with breathing, his dark eyes tracking the frantic, shallow rise and fall of your chest. He looks down at the way you look so incredibly messy underneath him; your hair frizzy and wild, tumbling onto your shoulders, your throat is painted with the dark, purplish marks he left there yesterday, and your skin flushed entirely from his doing. 

Yet, he is simply too far gone in his own needy cycle to care. Instead of slowing down, he leans in even more and manages to nip your bottom lip with his teeth, catching the sensitive flesh in a sharp bite. You gasp at the sudden sting, and he uses the moment to ground you down as he presses his nose into your neck.

A smug, bratty smirk tugs at the corner of his swollen mouth at your helpless reaction. He leans down further, his breath hot and heavy against your jawline as he nuzzles the sensitive, pulsing skin right below your ear.

"They don't feel numb," Hs voice drops into a low, seductive purr designed to thoroughly break your resolve. His hands slide down your arms, his fingers wrapping tightly around your wrists, pinning them softly to the sofa cushions on either side of your hips. "I can feel how warm you're getting. Your heart is racing... you want it too. Just let me back in. Don't be a liar, Y/N."

"Jungkook, stop it, you're being a brat—"

"I'm not a brat," he whines directly against your skin, inhaling your scent with a needy gasp before shifting his weight to grind down harder against you, his stubbornness completely taking over. "I'm just hurting. I'm hot, and you're the only one who can fix it. Please, Y/N? Just a little more? I'll be good, I promise."

He is being entirely relentless, using his physical advantage to keep you trapped against the couch while deploying the most unfair, whimpering hybrid manipulation tactics to break your defenses. You look up at his flushed, breathtaking face, completely torn between the bone-deep exhaustion in your body and the intense, suffocating grip he has over your senses.

"You're not persuading me this time, Kook," you pant out, trying to keep your voice firm. "I know you're in heat, but look at you. You're not burning up right now, you aren't in pain, and you're definitely not hurting. You're just being greedy."

"I am hurting," he insists immediately, his voice dropping an octave as his nose brushes against your cheek. He is entirely unbothered by your resistance, his lower body shifting with a slow friction. "I'm tight, Y/N. Right here. Feel it."

He grinds down intentionally from his perch on your lap, making sure you feel the rock-hard length pressing directly against your thigh. It’s a shameless, physical proof intended to shatter your logic.

"That's your own fault!" you argue, dodging his mouth as he tries to steal another kiss. You can already feel his warm hands slipping beneath the hem of your robe, the only thing covering your bare skin. His fingertips glide slowly up the sensitive flesh of your outer thigh, lingering just enough to make your breath hitch. You smack his hands away weakly, but he barely flinches, his stubborn hybrid instincts completely fixated on touching you. "You were doing completely fine twenty minutes ago just sitting next to me. Then you got fixated on something in your own head, started staring at my mouth, and worked yourself up into a boner. Don't blame your heat for you just being horny."

"That's cause you're right there," he whines, his fingers instantly snaking right back under the robe, crawling higher with a unyielding persistence. "How am I supposed to sit still? Y/N, please..."

"No, Jungkook. Stop," you snap, a sharp throb suddenly blooming right behind your eyes.

You wince, the sudden movement making your skull ache. Your body feels heavy, and a dull chill begins settling deep into your bones. Waking up after spending hours drenched on a cold bathroom floor yesterday is finally catching up to you, and you genuinely don't feel well. 

"My head hurts. I think I'm getting sick from sitting in the cold shower water with you for so long earlier. Get off me, now."

Jungkook freezes for a split second, his dark, blown-out pupils searching your face. But the feral, selfish haze of his heat quickly overrides his sympathy, making him uncompromising and defensive.

"My old owner never complained about being tired," he grumbles, his tone turning sharp, a bit petty and spoiled as he looks away. "She just took care of it when I wanted. She didn't make excuses."

The words hit you like a physical slap.

A cold, sharp wave of irritation, and a sudden, stinging ache of hurt, blooms in your chest; After everything you’ve risked for him, after hiding him from the authorities, tearing your body apart to comfort him, and literally making yourself sick to keep him safe, he’s comparing you to the person who abandoned him. Your exhaustion evaporates, replaced by a cold, quiet anger.

"Fine," you say, your voice dropping all of its warmth. "Go back to her then."

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, you shove his chest hard enough to catch him off guard. Jungkook slides off your lap onto the sofa cushions, blinking in shock. You don't give him a second glance. You pull your robe tightly around your body, tying the knot with stiff fingers, and turn your back completely to him, staring blankly at the TV screen as if he doesn't even exist.

The sudden, icy silence in the room makes Jungkook stiffen. The confidence he had a second ago instantly falters. A flicker of panic flashes across his flushed face as he realizes he crossed a line, his ears twitching as he stares at your rigid shoulders. He tries desperately not to show how much your sudden coldness scares him, swallowing hard and forcing his jaw to lock, his hands unconsciously fist into the sofa fabric.

But as the tense silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, Jungkook chest starts heaving beneath the strained knit of your sweater. The longer the quiet drags on, the harder it presses on him, his thoughts spinning in frantic circles as he struggles to navigate the sudden wall you’ve slammed up between you.

The truth is, Jungkook genuinely doesn’t understand why you are this mad. ​In his mind, he wasn't trying to insult you. His previous owner was an abuser who viewed him as property, never treating him as an equal or caring about his comfort, but she had always eagerly anticipated his heats. To her, a hybrid’s cycle was a playground, a period she did enjoy due to his intense heats and his sexual maintenance—in fact, that was exactly why she bought a bunny hybrid in the first place. Because she always demanded it, Jungkook’s primal brain had been hardwired to believe that providing this for an owner was his sole purpose, his only value. He didn't view it as being used or objectified; to him, it was just the baseline rule of survival.

You, however, are looking at him with the clear eyes of someone who actually treats him like a human being. Even through the haze of your anger and the exhausting ache of your growing illness, you understand this. You know he’s emotionally stunted, deeply damaged, and operating on trauma responses. But understanding it doesn't make the sting of his words hurt any less, and you are simply too tired, to gently unpack his psychological baggage right now.

Sensing the cold finality in your posture, a spike of genuine, primitive terror pierces through the bunny's defensive arrogance. The thought of actually going back to her makes his stomach drop.

Slowly, tentatively, he scoots over on the couch. His ears flatten completely against his dark hair, trembling with anxiety.

"Y/N..." he whispers, the rebellious edge entirely gone, replaced by a raw, frightened crack. "I don't... I don't want to go back to her. Don't say that. I want to stay here. With you."

You don't turn around. You just let out a weak, raspy sigh, your shoulders slumping. "Just watch the TV, Jungkook," you mumble.

His ears twitch at the sound of your voice, desperate for any sign of softening, but your dismissive tone only deepens his frustration. On the screen, the mindless romance has reached its climax. The two main characters are suddenly caught in a dramatic downpour, screaming their confessions over the artificial rain before crashing into a passionate, soaking-wet kiss.

The imagery makes Jungkook’s blood boil with searing envious frustration. He doesn't want to watch this stupid, glowing box. He doesn't care about a fake couple kissing in the rain. He wants to have you like that. Touching you, consuming you, drowning in the absolute certainty that you love him and belong to him. Instead, he’s forced to sit here while you remain entirely unavailable, mere inches away but a universe out of reach.

But he tries. He really, truly tries to behave. 

The terror of your anger is currently stronger than the pull of his heat.

For a few minutes, he stares fixedly at the screen, trying his absolute best to focus on the moving pictures. But the fustration rolling through his veins makes it impossible; he bites down on his own swollen bottom lip, the pressure sharp and punishing. He even considers biting it harder, drawing blood just to make you look at him, hoping you might at least scream at him for hurting himself rather than continuing this silent torture, but he restrains himself.

His gaze helplessly drifts to the side, catching you in the corner of his eye. Wrapped tightly in your robe, you look so beautiful to him. The silk fabric has ridden up slightly, leaving the soft expanse of your bare thighs exposed against the cushions.

Be a good boy, he tells himself, swallowing hard as his nostrils catch the faint, maddening trace of your scent. Just behave so she won't hate you.

​But he can't stop himself from trying to at least test your boundaries. He simply cannot bear this distance that feels like miles away. With agonizing caution, Jungkook shifts from his sitting position. He leans down, stretching his frame out across the sofa until he's lying down next to you. As he settles, the fluffy tips of his dark hair brush lightly against the side of your bare thigh, a fleeting, ticklish sensation that makes your skin prickle, where he almost, but not quite, touches you.

You glance down at him, your expression guarded, before cutting your eyes back to the television. You don't move away, which Jungkook takes as a silent green light. Emboldened, he shifts his head closer. Then closer again. Finally, with a tiny, submissive whimper, he rests his head directly in your lap, pressing his flushed cheek flat against your bare leg. His hand coming up to rest gently over your knee.

It is instantly, overwhelmingly comfortable like this. Being this close to your core, he is entirely enveloped by you. The soothing aroma of your vanilla body lotion mixes with the intoxicating, natural sweetness of your skin, hitting his hyper-sensitive hybrid senses like a drug.

A heavy, needy moan builds at the back of his throat, threatening to spill over, but Jungkook violently clamps his jaw shut, forcing the sound back down. He has to keep it in. He has to breathe silently, grounding himself against your lap, terrified that even a single sound of pleasure will make you push him away again. The agonizing tension in his jaw starts to make his head pound, matching the dull throb behind your own eyes. He is completely still, holding his breath for so long that his chest begins to tremble. The physical restraint is costing him everything.

 In his previous life, heat meant taking, getting full, spilling his seed, and being used like a raw, carnal tool, consuming and being consumed until he was entirely spent. When he ended up in the shelters, they would simply throw a female hybrid into his enclosure during his cycles to burn the fever out of him. Even when he was running feral on the streets, there was always an desperate hybrid in an alleyway or some wealthy human willing to pay for a piece of him, ensuring his physical urges were always easily discarded. His biology had always been serviced like an engine. And now, being forced to sit in the quiet, suffocating aftermath of his own mouthy arrogance, begging for a mere scrap of your warmth while desperately policing his own breathing, is a psychological torture he doesn't even know how to navigate.

​You don't move your hand from where it rests near his head, but you don't slide your fingers into his hair either. That lack of touch–the absence of the gentle, grounding strokes he has come to rely on from you—feels like a physical ache in his chest. It is a loud, ringing rejection that hurts worse than any blow his old owner ever dealt him.

"Jungkook," you mumble with a heavy sigh. "Take a breath. You're going to pass out."

You can feel him trembling violently against you, his frame completely stiff and rigid under the knit sweater, to the point where you genuinely can't sense if he is breathing or not. Your eyes drift down to where his shorts are still visibly strained and tented.

Jungkook takes a sharp, ragged breath. Not because you told him to, but because the instant relief of hearing your voice breaks the terrifying spell of your isolation. Just knowing you are talking to him makes his ears instantly twitch with hope, lifting from where they were pinned flat against his skull to catch the low vibration of your words like it's something sacred.

"You don't have to torture yourself like this," you continue."I'm not forcing you to suffer. If you need relief, you can take care of it yourself. You don't need my permission to fix your own body."

The words don't comfort him; they only make his chest ache with a different kind of agony. He doesn't want a clinical, lonely release by his own hand. He wants you. 

Slowly, he sits up, his heavy head reluctantly leaving the comfort of your leg. He shifts until he is up on his knees right beside you on the cushions. Instead of moving his hand down to his shorts to give himself the release you suggested, Jungkook reaches up with a trembling, hesitant palm. He doesn't dare touch your bare skin, terrified you'll flinch away, but he gently takes your limp hand from where it rests on your leg. 

His palm fists tightly into the smooth silk material of your robe sleeve, and with a small, broken whimper that catches in his throat, he guides your fingers up to his own head. He presses your palm firmly against the base of his twitching ear, practically forcing you to feel the desperate, burning heat radiating from his fur as he begs you with his wide, glossy eyes to just touch him.

You don't soften. You look back at him, your eyes still cold and entirely uninviting. The stinging hurt from his earlier words is still fresh, and the exhaustion wrapping around your brain makes a bitter streak of pettiness rise to the surface.

​"What?" you ask, your tone flat. "You want me to touch you?"

​A pathetic, desperate sound tears from his throat. "Please," he begs, his dark eyes searching yours for even a fraction of the warmth he usually takes for granted. 

​You look at him with deep disapproval, your eyebrow arching slightly. You just told him to handle it himself, but the sight of him trembling, so completely unstrung by your anger, makes you yield just a fraction. A few strokes on his ears wouldn't kill you.

Slowly, you let your fingers slide over the soft velvet of his ear. You pet him, but it’s a hollow, half-hearted gesture. You do it just a few times, dragging your nails lightly over the sensitive base, before pulling your hand away before he can even lean into the touch. It is entirely unsatisfying, a deliberate tease, and you do it on purpose. You are deeply hurt, offended, and honestly a little ashamed. If you are the one who is failing to satisfy his needs, if you're the one who is apparently making "excuses" while he suffers, then why should you even bother trying if his previous owner was supposedly so much better at it?

​"What's wrong?" you ask, your voice dripping with quiet sarcasm as you lean back against the sofa. "Did your previous owner pet you better than that?"

The question hangs heavy in the air. Jungkook flinches slightly, but he forces himself to hold your gaze. He tries to keep his panic locked away inside, swallowing hard to keep his voice steady, though his chest is heaving.

​"No," he chokes out, his voice barely a whimper.

​"No?" you repeat, your tone sharp and skeptical. "But she took care of you whenever you wanted, right? Didn't she make you feel good?" 

​Jungkook looks completely lost. He shakes his head frantically, his ears flattening backward in utter misery, as he bites the inside of his cheek so hard you can see his jaw muscle twitching, desperate to find the right words to fix the damage he caused.

"She wasn't that good,"Jungkook cracks, the words spilling out in a hurried, frantic scramble as he desperately tries to claw his way out of the grave he dug. "She never—she didn't make me feel like this. You make me feel better. So much better, Y/N. Please."

You let out a sharp, cynical huff, looking at him through the loose strands of your fringe. "As if," you mutter, your voice dripping with quiet bitterness. "I bet you miss her. I bet you wish you were back in her bed right now since she was so compliant."

​"No!" He desperately leans forward, his chest nearly pressing into yours, but he forces himself to an abrupt, jarring halt, as he catches the heavy, maddening wave of your scent up close; he knows with terrifying certainty that if he moves even a fraction of an inch closer, the sick, feral demands of his heat will completely override his control and make him jump you. He anchors his knees into the cushions, his body trembling from the forced restraint. "I don't care about her! I hate her! I only want you!"

​In the grip of his heat, Jungkook’s thoughts tumble in frantic, dizzying circles. He doesn't get why you are doing this to him. To his deeply conditioned mind, your cold withdrawal and biting sarcasm feel like a terrifying form of emotional blackmail, and it is completely messing with his head. He had spoken from a place of survival-taught reality, but you are treating it like a malicious betrayal, leaving him utterly unmoored and terrified.

​It is the brutal, ugly friction that happens when two entirely different worlds collide.

​You are an emotionally complex human, nursing wounded pride, exhaustion, and a deep sense of underappreciated sacrifice. He is a rescued, poorly conditioned hybrid operating on raw instinct, trauma-induced logic, and the primal desperation of a heat cycle. When these two opposing realities crash into each other, the language barrier isn't just about words; it’s about emotional processing. Without meaning to, your boundary-setting has curdled into a toxic, petty punishment,and his broken coping mechanisms look like blatant disrespect to you.

You drag a hand over your face for a second, a sudden pang of regret hitting you for breaking the previous silence. You really need to get yourself together—to be the mature, smart one in this room.

Deciding that the only smart move left is a complete emotional retreat, you abruptly turn your face back toward the TV screen, propping your chin on your hand.

"Hush now. This is my favorite part," you announce, a smooth lie.

In reality, you are being quite pathetic. You have absolutely no idea what this movie is really about and haven't processed a single line of dialogue. But as your eyes lock onto the screen, you are immediately punished for your lie: your so-called "favorite scene" is actually the female lead’s incredibly fat, balding uncle loudly groaning as he lowers his hairy body into a lukewarm bathtub. It is absurd and entirely unappealing, but you keep your eyes fiercely glued to it, pretending it is a noble, masterpiece of a scene. Your absolute favorite of favorites.

​Jungkook darts a single, deeply annoyed look at the screen. His face twists into a scowl at the sight of the old man, and he lets out a needy whine.

"What about me?"

"What about you?" you ask back, refusing to break your deadpan stare from the TV, where the uncle is now aggressively scrubbing his back with a giant wooden brush, splashing water over the tiles.

Despite his desperate attempts to hold his composure and hide just how unstrung he is, the agonizing pressure in his shorts builds to a breaking point. A helpless, heavy whimper slips past his clamped teeth, his stiff frame shuddering.

​"It hurts," he grumbles, his voice dropping into a rough, strained pitch as his eyes fall to his lap. "It hurts bad, Y/N."

​"Then you better get to work," you say, your tone flat and unbothered. "You have your own hands. Do it yourself."

Beside you, Jungkook thickens with a heavy, frustrated breath. If you won't give him what he wants, he will make you watch him take it. He shifts heavily on the cushions, deliberately leaning his head all the way back against the top of the sofa. He manspreads his legs wide, completely exposing his vulnerability right next to you. With a shaking hand, he reaches into his waistband, pulling his rigid, weeping length free. He grips himself, his palm wrapping around his hot shaft, and begins to stroke himself right there in your peripheral vision.

You lock your jaw, staring fixedly at the fat uncle on the TV, fighting with every ounce of your remaining strength not to react. But Jungkook makes it impossible to ignore. He starts moaning, a deep shameless sound that wavers right into your core. He is panting heavily, his chest shuddering with breath under your knit sweater as his knuckles his length.

"Ah... Y/N" he pants out, as his hips hitch upward. "Fuck, you're so mean... I need your hands on it. Please, Y/N. Just touch me."

​He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to picture your fingers sliding over his skin instead of his own, desperately trying to force himself to cum just from the fantasy. His head thrashes back against the cushions, a string of breathless curses spilling from his lips as he pumps his hand faster. He is straining so hard, his entire body rigid as he tries to force his biology to cross the finish line on imagination alone, his teeth digging into his lower lip. He wants the relief so badly it burns, pushing his hips up against the empty air in a frantic, desperate rhythm.

​But it isn't working. The friction feels empty, almost frustratingly painful. Without your touch, his body refuses to give in to the peak. He needs at least a piece of you.

Jungkook stops. He refuses to just beg like a beaten dog anymore; instead, he takes what he needs. With a sudden, slick movement, he reaches over and places his palm right under your chin.

​You glare at him, your brows furrowed in annoyance, entirely unsure of what he's trying to pull now.

Jungkook doesn’t back down under your visible discontent. He looks up at you through his dark, thick eyelashes, his mouth parted as he pants.

​"Spit," he commands.

​You blink, caught entirely off guard. "What?"

​"Spit on it, Y/N,"

You stare at him, completely stunned by the audacity of the request. For a second, the petty anger freezes in your throat, your mind racing as you look from his dark eyes down to his trembling hand. Wanting to just get this over with, you lean forward slightly. You deliberately gather a thick pool of saliva in your mouth and spit directly into his waiting palm.

​Jungkook lets out a trembling moan at the intense intimacy of the gesture. He doesn't waste a single heartbeat. He immediately rubs your wet saliva all over his aching length, his eyes snapping back to yours, locking you in his gaze as his pace turns frantic.

​This time, you don't manage to look away.

Your eyes are trapped. The wet, rhythmic sounds of his strokes fill the quiet room, echoing over the stupid television audio. You watch the way his thighs flex, the way his body squirms against the couch, making those small, pathetic, needy noises in the back of his throat. Involuntarily, a sudden, stuffy heat blossoms deep in your chest, a weird, heavy sensation pulsing low in your core. It makes your skin prickle, your own body betraying your anger.

​That is exactly what Jungkook wanted. He catches the shift in your expression, the slight widening of your pupils. Throwing his head back against the couch, he hits a heavy, slick stroke, his muscles locking up as he lets out a breathy sound.

​"Mphm... are you just going to fucking watch?" he growls, not managing to act submissive this time, guided instead by the possessive edge of a hybrid on fire. He is burning up again, the starting fever in his blood turning him reckless.

​A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you finally give in. Your thoughts fracture; you honestly thought he could just handle himself, but he clearly can't. He is a stupid, broken, pretty little bunny who always manages to manipulate his way into getting exactly what he wants from you. At this rate, you think bitterly, you are going to turn him into an incredibly spoiled brat.

But the heat in your own core is too loud to ignore now. You slowly shift your weight, turning your body fully toward him and leaning in close.

​The moment you move toward him, Jungkook's frantic movements instantly slow to a halt. His hand hovers over himself, his breath hitching in his throat as a knowing, smug smirk slowly spreads across his flushed face, his dark eyes gleaming with a dark triumph. He knows he has won. And before you can even utter a word of reprimand, he reaches out, his free hand gripping the lapel of your silk robe to pull into his space

But instead of pulling you into a kiss, he uses his grip on your robe to guide your face lower, tilting his head back against the sofa to fully expose the taut line of his throat. His pulse is hammering wildly against his skin, his scent glands flaring with a suffocating, sweet musk that begs for attention. He nudges your chin with his jaw, a low, demanding purr vibrating in his chest as he tries to tell you exactly what he wants: for you to open your mouth and lick him right there, right over his pounding pulse.

​You resist his pull for a split second, keeping your lips just an inch away from his burning skin, your gaze cutting up to meet his smug eyes.

​"Don't look so happy," you mutter, your voice still carrying a sharp, petty edge despite the heavy contrast of your breathing. "I'm only doing this because you're pathetic and suffering so much. And because unlike you, I am a good human. I actually care about your wellbeing, even if you couldn't care less about mine."

​The reminder of his bad behavior doesn't even dent his victory. Jungkook just lets out a breathless hum, his eyes half-lidded and swimming with absolute adoration as he stares up at you, completely unbothered by the bite in your words now that he has you within arm's reach.

​"You are," he pants, his hand sliding from your robe to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to gently press you down. "The best human. So good to me. My good, pretty human..."

​You roll your eyes hard at the blatant flattery, but the warmth of his hand against your neck melts the last of your icy restraint. Leaning down, you finally part your lips against his throat, letting your tongue swipe damply over his skin.

Jungkook arches into the touch with a loud, ruined groan, his grip on your hair tightening instantly, his knuckles burying deep into your strands as his head thrashes slightly against the sofa cushion again. The other hand, the one still wrapped around his weeping length, begins to stroke it lazily, his pace slowing to a heavy, sluggish drag. The sheer, intoxicating pleasure radiating from just your lips against his bare skin is so overwhelming that it paralyzes him; it is a sensation so pure, so intensely targeted to his core, that it feels like it is just enough to pull him over the edge and make him cum right then and there. 

Sensing his sluggish movements, your hand slides down from his shoulder, moving down his torso to his lap. You lay your palm directly over his slick hand where it rests on his cock, your fingers wrapping around his knuckles to apply firm pressure, guiding his hand to help him stroke faster. You can feel how precariously close he is to breaking, and your open, warm kisses continue to bloom against his neck, trying to push him over the finish line.

But after a while, as Jungkook shifts his neck even more into your mouth, tilting his head in an expectant, waiting gesture, a deep dissatisfaction begins to brew beneath his pleasure. He doesn't like how you are giving him only open, soft kisses. He is waiting, his whole body tensing in anticipation, for you to sink your teeth in. He wants you to mark him, to bruise the sensitive skin of his neck, to leave angry, dark hickeys that will ache for days so that he remains yours. For him, a hybrid navigating the terrifying aftermath of abuse and abandonment, those physical marks are the ultimate reassurance that he belongs somewhere.

Because you won't mark him, his overthinking immediately takes the wheel; if you won't mark him, he thinks you don't want to keep him. He feels like you are still detached, that you are just going to throw him away when this is over. Even though you are actively kissing him, the lack of teeth makes him feel unwanted, isolated, and incredibly insecure.

Before you can guide his hand through another stroke, Jungkook’s fingers stiffen beneath your palm. He deliberately stops his hand, freezing his movement entirely and halting your hand over his length.

"Y/N..." He mutters, a thoroughly unsatisfied, petulant sound. 

The sudden cessation of movement breaks your rhythm. You stop kissing his neck, pulling back slightly to look at him. Suddenly, his face looks completely gloomy.His Brows drawn together,  twisted with some miserable, simmering frustration.

"Are you not going to bite me?" 

You are too slow to get what he even means, your brain still a bit foggy from the heat in the room. "Bite you?"

​Jungkook looks at you like you are completely dumb. He glares up through his lashes, his tone turning mean and accusing. "You're just trying to get it over with," he snaps, his lip curling into a bratty, defensive sneer. "You don't actually care. You don't even love me if you're just going to treat me like a chore. You're my mate—you're supposed to mark me."

You look at him, literally dumbfounded, your jaw tightening. If he is going to be this complicated and dramatic every single time he goes into heat, you are going to go completely crazy at this pace. 

"Kook, I am literally trying to help you right now," you say, your voice tinged with an unyielding sharpness as you glare at his grim expression. "I'm trying to make you cum. You were supposedly hurting just a second ago, yet here you are procrastinating your own release. I didn't think about giving you hickeys or anything because you said you were in pain, and I wanted to fix it."

But Jungkook is in a thoroughly stubborn mood now, the volatile mix of his heat and his trauma turning him into a defensive wall. He snaps at you, completely blind to what you don't understand about his logic. "I don't care about the pain. If you don't mark me, it doesn't count. I want your teeth on me, Y/N. If you're going to touch me, do it right. Otherwise, don't even bother."

Your blood boils at his sheer ungratefulness. It is infuriating how a hybrid you are actively swallowing your pride to relieve can still manage to be so petty and ignorant of your sacrifice. You are rewriting your own boundaries just to take care of him, and this bitter, unfair attitude is your reward.

As you open your mouth to berate him further, you notice the sudden shift in his body. His cheeks are flaring a much deeper pink, and his dark eyes are becoming glossier, swimming with a heavy, glassy sheen. Your anger falters slightly; you know exactly what that means. The physical fever of his heat is threatening to completely take over his brain at any second. If he slips under the delirium entirely, he will become completely unmanageable. You swallow your immediate retort, forcing yourself to blame this ugly, emotional outburst on the sickness he is rapidly falling back into. 

Jungkook really is feeling worse by the second. The heat is clawing at the inside of his skull, but despite the agony, his eyes remain locked onto yours, desperately tracking your reaction. He is terrified. Every single heat cycle he shared with his previous owner, or the female hybrids at the shelters, had been nothing more than a mechanical transaction. It was a matter of raw pleasure, a cold clinical release, and nothing more.

— But with you, it is entirely different. It is entirely new. For the first time in his life, he is emotionally and deeply connected to someone, and the weight of that intimacy is driving him mad. There’s something darkly possessive buried beneath it all, curling tighter each day in ways even he can’t quite comprehend. He just knows, with a terrifying certainty, that he cannot exist without your absolute, total devotion. He needs a physical, undeniable guarantee that you will never abandon him, that he is securely anchored to you forever, or the anxiety will tear him apart. These overwhelming, suffocating emotions are actively making his physical fever spike, turning his blood to liquid fire.

You let out a long, defeated breath. "Okay. Where?"

Jungkook’s long ears instantly twitch upward, pinning forward as he looks at you in utter surprise.

​"Where do you want me to mark you?" you ask again, your voice dropping into a resigned murmur.

​His frame goes entirely stiff, a sudden wave of nervous, boyish vulnerability washing over his flushed face. For all his big talk, the actual prospect of you giving in makes him nervous. He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up. "All over... all over my throat."

When he sees you actually leaning back in, he doesn't touch you this time. Instead, he shifts his weight, planting both of his hands flat on the cushions behind him. He leans all his weight back on his arms, completely presenting his throat to you—offering it up like a sacrifice, still not fully believing that you are actually about to do it.

You just want to cool things down. You just want to break the fever before it breaks him. Of course you don't want to abandon him; you've upended your entire life to give him a safe home. Leaving a few dark hickeys on his skin isn't a big deal to you in the grand scheme of things. But a quiet, heavy sadness settles in your chest as you look at him. You thought that after reassuring him so many times, after validating your place in his life over and over, he would finally feel secure. But you guess you could tell him you want him every single day, and he would still live in this agonizing, self-made, post-traumatic doubt. His broken mind simply doesn't know how to trust safety without a brand.

Bracing yourself, you cage him in. You plant one arm stretched out on the couch right near his hip, and rest your other hand on the top of the sofa behind his head. You tilt your head and press your lips to the soft skin right over his thumping jugular. You don't hold back. You deliberately suck and bite down painfully, making sure to sink your teeth in deep, putting every ounce of your complicated, frustrated feelings into the mark.

Jungkook instantly holds his breath, his chest locking tight as his fingers dig so hard into the couch cushions they rip into the fabric. A loud, ruined, miserably deep moan tears from his throat as the pain fractures his fever. You bite down so brutally that you nearly break his soft skin. You can feel the manic, ecstatic rush of blood rushing through his veins, and you know with absolute certainty that you could bite down hard enough to draw blood right now, and he wouldn't flinch. He would be more than happy to bleed for you, as long as it meant he was finally yours.

​You work your way up the burning expanse of his neck, leaving a trail of heavy, stinging red marks that bloom all the way from his voice box up to the soft skin just beneath his chin. By the time you finally pull back, you are breathless, the sweltering heat of his skin coating your lips. Exhausted and emotionally drained, you let your head drop forward, resting your forehead heavily against the sharp angle of his jaw.

​"Is that enough?" you ask, your voice dropping into a whisper that vibrates against his skin. You close your eyes, the bitterness returning in a dull, heavy ache. "Is that more reassuring than my words?

​"Words aren't reliable," he croaks. He leans his face down, his hot breath sweeping over your skin as he nips weakly at your cheek, marking you with his scent. Down below, his hand slides to the tie of your robe, his fingers catching the silk and giving it a firm tug, pulling it until the knot fully unravels. "Humans are made of lies. They say things just to make the pet quiet. But the teeth don't lie. The bruises stay longer."

You look up at him with an unreadable pout, your heart twisting uncomfortably in your chest. It is a deeply fucked-up realization to sit with. The sickening irony that soft reassurances or gentle vows of safety mean absolutely nothing to him. He cannot comprehend a world where a human means what they say. To him, your soft words are a threat, but the stinging, physical violence of your teeth is a tangible contract he can actually trust.

​Before you can even vocalize the knot of pity and frustration in your throat, Jungkook pulls the silk tie completely free from the loops of your robe, staring down at the fabric in his hand. You watch him, your eyes widening in surprise, but before you can register his intent, he quickly hooks the silk strap around the back of your neck. With a swift motion of his wrist, he spins it around one time, effectively fashioning a makeshift collar, and with a sudden, firm tug, he pulls the ends toward his chest. 

You are yanked forward sharply, the silk tightening against your windpipe. A startled gasp catches in your throat, slightly choking you, though he leaves just enough slack for you to draw shallow, panicked breaths. Your hands instantly fly up to his chest for balance, your heart hammering against your ribs as you look into his dark, unhinged eyes.

He tilts his head back against the sofa, his gaze dropping down to his waist.

"Sit on it," he gestures with a sharp nod toward his fully exposed, splayed-out length, which is still slick with your saliva.

​The raw command leaves absolutely no room for argument. Driven by the dangerous, territorial aura rolling off him in suffocating waves, you obey. You shift your weight, carefully straddling his thighs. Clutching at his shoulders for balance, you slowly, agonizingly begin to lower your hips.

Your breath hitches sharply the moment the blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance, parting your slick walls. You pause, your muscles instantly tightening in resistance against the overwhelming size of him, but Jungkook doesn't move a muscle to help you. He just watches you struggle. His glassy, fever-blown eyes are fixed entirely on your face, tracking every twitch of your eyebrows and every erratic rise and fall of your chest as you try to force your body to accept him. He takes a twisted, primal pleasure in watching you work for it, his jaw clenching as he witnesses exactly what he does to you.

​With a low, strained gasp, you press down further. The thick, burning length slides fully inside you, inch by punishing inch, stretching you out completely and filling the aching void in your core. You let out a breathless, broken whimper, your fingers digging deep into the fabric of his sweater as the sheer depth of him bottoms out, settling heavily within your pelvis. Your body shudders around him, completely full. The moment you are fully seated, Jungkook pulls the silk tie tighter, yanking you flush against his chest. He leans up and presses a hard, wet peck directly to your lips.

​"Move," he pants against your mouth, his grip on the fabric tightening.

You begin to move, lifting and dropping your hips in a slow, deep rhythm that makes both of you moan aloud. With the knot gone, your robe falls completely open, the silk sliding off your shoulders and baring your chest to the sweltering heat of the room. The scene is blindingly hot, the friction of your bare skin rubbing against his knit sweater creating a dizzying contrast of textures. Jungkook arches his back into every downward stroke, his possessive instincts flaring to a dangerous peak as he watches your body move for his pleasure.

He pulls the tie even more, anchoring you to him, completely obsessed with the visual of you bound to his whim. The tightness becomes too much; you reflexively wedge your index finger beneath the fabric at your throat, desperate to give yourself some air as your head swims from the lack of oxygen.

"Kook... it's too tight," you wheeze out, your voice strained and breathless as you continue to move your hips against him.

But Jungkook is in a complete daze, his glassy eyes fixed entirely on the way your throat column moves. The sight is utterly hypnotizing to him. For the first time in his existence, he feels like he is the one in charge. All his life, he was the slave—the one being dragged by a leash, the one gasping for air on a cold floor, the one begging for mercy. Having you like this, bound by his hands and riding his body, rewires something primal in his broken psyche. It gives him an intoxicating sense of security, making him feel like he finally owns the one thing he cannot bear to lose.

But despite the dark high of control, the core of his soul still refuses to truly hurt you. The moment a small, choked cough escapes your lips, the spell breaks.

His eyes clear for a fraction of a second, horror flickering beneath the heavy glaze of lust. He instantly releases his grip on the silk rope, dropping the ends as if they had suddenly burned him, leaving the fabric to hang loosely and harmlessly around your neck. You take a sudden, deep breath, catching your air in desperate gulps while Jungkook looks up at you with immediate concern, his lower lip caught anxiously between his teeth. 

His hands come up to firmly clamp onto your waist, stopping your hips from moving any further and forcing you to sit perfectly still on his length, which remains buried inside you to the very end. You swallow heavily, your throat aching a little from the brief restriction. Jungkook tracks the movement of your neck with wide, guilty eyes, the dominant edge of his hybrid instincts momentarily collapsing under a wave of panic.

"Are you okay, baby?" he murmurs, his throat strains as he looks up at you, the freshly minted, angry purple hickeys and deep teeth marks on his neck stretching vividly with the movement of his throat.

You look down at him, your chest still heaving as you process the words. A small, involuntary snort escapes your lips, your shoulders shrugging slightly with it. You cock an eyebrow at him, your expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Baby?"

It is only the second time you have ever heard him use that specific pet name, and you have absolutely no idea where the usually timid, submissive bunny would have picked it up.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, a sudden wave of boyish insecurity washing over his flushed, sweating face. He shifts uncomfortably beneath you, his ears flattening backward. "Do you not like it?" he asks softly. He swallows hard, looking incredibly shameless yet entirely vulnerable as he confesses, "I heard it in the movies. The men say it to the girls they want to keep."

You pretend to ponder it for a second, humming thoughtfully as you look down at his flushed, waiting face. "Hmm... I don't know." you tease.

But as you take in the nervous glint in his eyes the last remnants of your anger evaporate in a single second. He is just too ridiculous, too deeply wounded, and too devastatingly cute for you to stay mad at. A soft, genuine smile breaks across your face.

Jungkook tilts his head slightly against the sofa, watching your expression soften. Seeing your smile, his lips form a tiny, hopeful pout as he realizes he isn't in trouble. But before he can relax completely, you deliberately shift your weight, starting to move your hips against him again in a sudden, rolling friction. Jungkook lets out a sharp gasp, his eyes blowing wide as his fingers dig deep into your skin.

You reach down, your hands catching the hem of the knit sweater he's wearing, the one he stole directly from your closet, and try to pull it up over his broad shoulders to get it off him.

"No." he whines instantly, his body tensing as he traps your wrists with his forearms, stopping you from removing the garment. "Don't take it off. I like it."

"Kook, you're boiling hot," you reason, panting as the friction inside you begins to heat up again. "You're going to overheat with the fever."

"I won't," he protests stubbornly, a desperate edge returning to his voice. He rubs his cheek against your hand, his eyes half-closed as he explains with a needy, breathless reverence, "It smells like you. It's thick and it holds your scent right against my skin. When the cramps get bad, the smell makes it hurt less. Please leave it on me, Y/N."

You let out a soft huff but yield to his wishes, leaving the sweater bunched around his torso. As you resume the rhythm, picking up the pace, Jungkook’s hands slide down from your waist, his palms moving over the smooth fabric of your silk robe. The material has completely slipped from your shoulders, pinning your arms loosely at your sides and bunching up behind you, creating a thick, protective shield of silk between the small of your back and the rough texture of his thighs.

His fingers find the bare flesh of your exposed backside beneath the bunched silk, his large palms the flesh with a sudden, bruising tightness. You let out a loud, breathless moan as he squeezes you, his thumbs digging in deep to anchor you completely to his movements. The sheer pleasure of his touch combined with the sweltering heat of his skin sends a sharp shiver down your spine, your core clamping down tightly around his rigid length.

Jungkook's mind completely fractures at the sensation. The possessive, feral need to take control takes over again, his patience entirely depleted by the pace of your riding.

"Too slow," he growls, his voice dropping into a dark, guttural register.

Jungkook hooks his arms securely under your thighs, then in one fluid movement, he effortlessly shifts your weight, flipping your positions entirely. Your back hits the plush couch with a dulll thud, your breath knocked right out of your lungs. Your robe splays open completely, leaving you utterly bare and vulnerable beneath him. Before you can even blink, Jungkook hovers over you like a predatory shadow and slams his hips down, burying himself inside you with a rough force.

A loud, shattered gasp tears from your throat as his full depth fills you all at once. There is no hesitation left in him now. He begins an eager, relentless pounding, his large frame driving forward with a desperate rhythm.Every heavy thrust hits the deep, sensitive walls of your core, making your vision blur as the raw friction quickly turns into a blinding, scorching heat.

Even though the lingering exhaustion of your own cold hasn’t magically vanished—your limbs still feeling heavy and your muscles aching with a dull, persistent soreness from the fatigue—the intensity of Jungkook's body heat feels like an antidote. He is burning up, radiating a sweltering, intoxicating warmth that bleeds directly into your chilled skin wherever his torso presses against yours, replacing the dull ache of your illness with a blinding, white-hot pleasure that makes your toes curl into the cushions.

Desperate to anchor yourself in the middle of his storm, your hands claw their way upward, slipping beneath the hem of the sweater to press flat against the burning expanse of his back. The skin of his spine is slick with sweat, his muscles bunching and shifting like steel cables beneath your palms as you pull him closer, locking him tightly between your spread legs.

​Jungkook drops his weight heavily over you, burying his face into the crook of your neck, as he hammers against you. His hot, ragged breaths blast against your collarbone, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin as if he wants to rip the bone right out of your body, to consume you until there is no boundary left between where he ends and you begin.

​"Fuck, baby... you feel so good," he lets a breathy growl, as his lower body continues to pound into yours. "Too good. So tight, fuck—Y/N..."

Delirious with the sheer volume of pleasure filling the room, one of your hands slips down the small of his back, your fingers blindly sliding lower until they accidentally brush against the sensitive, hidden base of his bunny tail. The sudden, highly intimate touch sends a violent, electric jolt straight through his spine. His tail twitches erratically against your palm, and his primal, hybrid instincts completely explode.

​He loses every last ounce of his remaining restraint. He starts fucking you like he hates you; with a feral, possessive violence that borders on mania. It feels like he wants to break you, to shatter you completely beneath him and stitch you back into his own skin just to ensure you can never walk away from him. It is a rough, territorial display, entirely stripped of his usual gentle hesitation, but it feels so intoxicatingly good that your logic completely fractures.

​You want more. You scream for more, your voice dropping into a ruined, breathless beg as your hands migrate all over his body. You tangle your fingers frantically in his damp, messy hair, your other hand gripping the thick, solid line of his waist to pull his heavy hips down even harder against yours, demanding the punishing friction.

Jungkook absolutely thrives on the desperation in your touch. Hearing you break for him, feeling your nails scoring lines down his back, and seeing you completely ruined and helpless beneath his massive frame feeds his deep-seated need for ownership, pushing him faster, harder, and deeper toward a shattering, fever-fueled release.

When the climax finally hits, it is a violent, shattering eclipse; a blinding rush of heat that leaves both of your bodies trembling, slick with sweat, and utterly ruined against the tangled cushions.

​As the world slowly bleeds back in, you are left pinned beneath his heavy, dead-weight frame, the silk tie still loosely draped over your neck.

​In the stark afternoon light, the angry purple bruises on his throat stand out in sharp relief—Proof that he finally belongs to someone.

PREVIOUS NEXT

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Another A/N:

Hi...

I was super lost at first with how to continue Jungkook's heat. I really didn't want it to be them just fucking around and shit, so I worked overtime trying to balance y/n and Kook's dynamic here—especially with Jungkook being an absolutely relentless, horny menace lol

​Also, I experimented a little with the writing style this time, and focused way more on Jungkook’s pov; his internal feelings, and how he actually views his own heat cycles due to his past. It's a lot, but he's a needy bunny, what can we do?

Let me know if you liked getting inside his head for a bit. See ya in the next update <3

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Tag list: @lolfccfvvvvbbbb @achbbys000 @reicoolboy @junglekookz @ttipa @strawberryberrygirl @kyljjk @viillamilla @junkookloverinfinity @hellomate1234 @lindsayjoy444 @canarystwin, @svnk1ssd @sleepyeclipes @doublebunv @lunaryoongie @mochiminiee @aestheticalime @namroo @lostinjk @celliez @twilightsparklingwater @uhmsothisiscrazy @joonmonjagi @mrpranjalmr @isamisaaoo @channit @bjoriis (if you wanna be tagged, just let me know 💌)

[notredamn]

Kook

[kooffeecup]

PAST TENSE, PRESENT LOVE 𐚁̸

when his childhood best friend tries to remind you she means more than you.

genre : angst, romance

pairing : jungkook x reader

— requested by a reader

Jungkook's phone buzzed on the nightstand just as he was getting ready for bed. You were curled up beside him, half-asleep, your head resting on his chest. He reached over with one hand, glancing at the screen. An unknown number.

Frowning, he answered. "Hello?"

A familiar laugh echoed through the speaker, light and nostalgic. "Kookie… still using the same deep, sleepy voice when you pick up late at night, huh?"

Jungkook froze. He hadn’t heard that voice in years. His brows furrowed. "Lora?"

You stirred slightly at the change in his tone, but he rubbed your back absentmindedly to soothe you.

"Surprised?" lora teased. "It’s been so long."

"Yeah… it has." He sat up slightly, careful not to wake you completely. "How did you get my number?"

"Jin," she admitted. "Ran into him a while ago, and he mentioned you were still in the city."

Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What’s up?"

"Well…" She drew out the word, as if nervous. "I’m actually moving there. Thought I’d reach out since, you know, you’re the only person I really know in the city. Maybe we could catch up?"

Jungkook hesitated. There was nothing wrong with meeting an old friend, but something about this felt… off. Still, he wasn’t the type to shut people out.

"Yeah, sure," he said carefully. "Let me know when you get here."

"Great!" she chirped. "I can’t wait to see you again, Kookie. Just like old times."

Jungkook forced a chuckle. "Yeah… see you soon, Lora."

As he hung up, Jungkook placed his phone back on the nightstand, but his fingers lingered on the device. He stared at it for a moment, lost in thought.

You shifted beside him, your voice laced with sleep. "Who was that?"

He glanced down at you, debating for a second. He could lie, say it was no one important. But that wasn’t who he was, and that wasn’t the kind of relationship he wanted with you.

So, he exhaled and brushed his fingers through your hair. "Lora. My childhood best friend."

Your brows knitted together, eyes barely open. "Lora?"

"Yeah… she’s moving here. She said she wants to catch up."

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just studying his face. Then, slowly, you sat up, blinking the sleep away. "Are you excited to see her?"

Jungkook frowned. He hadn’t even considered that. Lora had been a huge part of his past, but that was the thing—she was the past. And right now, all he could think about was how this conversation had already made you look a little uneasy.

He cupped your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your skin. "I don’t know," he admitted honestly. "I mean, it’s been years. People change."

You nodded slowly but didn’t say anything. He could see the thoughts running through your head, the way you bit the inside of your cheek like you were trying to keep something in.

"Talk to me," he whispered.

You hesitated before finally asking, "Was she… ever more than a friend?"

Jungkook blinked, surprised. "No. Never."

"But she wanted to be?"

He sighed. "Maybe at some point. But it never happened. I never saw her that way." He tilted your chin up, making sure you met his eyes. "And even if I did back then, it wouldn’t matter. Because I have you now."

Your lips pressed together, but you nodded. "Okay."

Still, Jungkook could feel it. That small thread of doubt creeping into your heart. And he hated it.

So, he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to your forehead. "You’re the only one who matters to me, okay? No one else."

You sighed against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. "Okay," you murmured again, but this time, your voice was softer, more certain.

But deep down, Jungkook knew Lora. And he had a sinking feeling that she wasn’t coming back just to ‘catch up.’ And soon, he’d be proven right.

-

Jungkook never mentioned her. Not once in the years you had been together.

But there she was, standing too close, laughing too hard, touching him like she still belonged.

You swallowed down the bitter taste in your throat as you watched them from across the room. Lora, had arrived in town unexpectedly, and Jungkook, being the kind-hearted man he was, welcomed her with open arms. But she wasn’t just here for nostalgia. She was here to remind you that she had known him first.

"You remember, don't you, Kookie?" Lora's voice dripped with familiarity, her eyes flickering toward you as if daring you to react. "That summer when we stayed up all night talking about our dreams? You swore you’d marry me if we were still single by thirty."

Jungkook chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, oblivious to the way your heart clenched. "Yeah, I remember. We were kids."

Lora tilted her head, eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Still... we had something special, didn't we?"

You turned away, unable to listen anymore. You knew Jungkook loved you. You knew he chose you. But hearing her reminisce about a past you weren’t part of, about a version of him you never knew felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

That night, you were quiet. Jungkook noticed.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching for you, but you stepped back.

"You never told me about her before yesterday," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook sighed, his hands falling to his sides. "She was just my best friend. That’s all."

"Then why does it feel like she wants to be more?"

His brows furrowed. "She’s just reminiscing,"

"She’s making me feel like I don’t belong in your life the way she did." Your voice cracked, and that was when his expression changed. Realization dawned in his eyes, followed by guilt.

Jungkook stepped closer, cupping your face. "Hey… don’t do that. You belong here. With me. There’s no one else."

"But she knows a part of you I never will."

He exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against yours. "And you know the me that she never will. The man I became, the man I love being,because of you."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "Then tell her to stop."

Jungkook pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse you together. "I will," he whispered into your hair. "I’ll make sure she knows there’s no room for anyone else in my heart but you."

And the next time Lora tried to bring up the past, Jungkook simply laced his fingers with yours, pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, and smiled at you like you were his entire world. Because you were.

Lora noticed the shift immediately. The way Jungkook’s attention never wavered from you, the way his fingers tightened around yours as if anchoring you to him. She tried again, laughing softly as she nudged his arm.

"Come on, Kookie. You can’t tell me you don’t miss the old days, just a little?"

Jungkook didn’t even hesitate. "No, I don’t." His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering as he looked at you instead of her.

Lora blinked, taken aback. "Wow… you’ve really changed."

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah. Because I found the person I want to build my future with." He turned fully to you then, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. "And nothing from my past can compare to what I have now."

Your chest ached, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness. It was from the overwhelming warmth of his words, the certainty in his touch.

Lora’s lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but then she sighed, shoulders slumping. "I get it," she said softly. "I was hoping… I don’t know, that maybe we could go back to how things were. But I see now that we can’t."

Jungkook nodded, kindness in his expression but no regret. "I’ll always be grateful for our friendship, Lora. But my heart is already taken."

Lora forced a small smile, then excused herself. And just like that, the lingering shadows of Jungkook’s past faded into the background.

When it was just the two of you, he cupped your face, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Are you okay?" he murmured.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were from relief. "I just… I was scared," you admitted. "That she was a part of you I could never touch."

Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips. "You touch parts of me no one ever has," he whispered. "My heart, my soul, everything that matters."

He pulled you close, kissed you, slow and deep, the ache inside you finally disappeared. Because the past didn’t matter. Not when the man in front of you had already chosen his future.

And his future is you.

_

[republicansaretheproblem]

[scopophilic1997]

scopOphilic_micromessaging_1679 - scopOphilic presents its micromessaging series: small, subtle, and often unintentional messages we send and receive verbally and non-verbally. (2011)