When Your Clingy Mafia Husband Couldn't Sleep Because You Left to Your Parents' House — Now He’s at Your Door | Jungkook ff
⚠️This story is fictional and created only for entertainment. It does not romanticize obsessive behavior.
The clock ticks loud enough to rattle the quiet house, but you barely hear it over the sound of distant rain tapping on the roof. You’ve been back at your parents’ home for only a few hours, yet the silence feels heavier than usual—like someone’s missing.
And you know exactly who.
You lie awake in your old bedroom, staring at the ceiling, arms tucked under your pillow. The moment you left Jungkook alone at the mansion earlier, he had been unusually quiet. No protests. No negotiation. No dramatic clinginess. Just… stillness.
Honestly, the silence was what frightened you most.
Because Jeon Jungkook is never silent.
He’s loud, dramatic, emotional, clingy, and the most dangerous mafia boss on the eastern side of the city—yet he turns into a soft, helpless mess the second you look like you’re about to walk away.
And you had walked away.
Not because you were angry—just because you needed a weekend with your parents. You told him that. You swore to him you’d be gone only two nights.
But Jungkook still clung to the doorway like a puppy who’d just been abandoned at the gate.
“Two nights is like… forever, baby. Can’t you take me with you?”
You laughed. You kissed him. You left.
And now somehow you’re the one staring at the ceiling at 1:00 AM with a strange ache in your chest.
Your phone buzzes lightly on the pillow beside you.
Jungkook <3:
Are you sleeping?
Before you can type a reply, the screen lights up again.
Jungkook <3:
It’s dark here without you.
Another pause.
Jungkook <3:
I’m trying to sleep but my pillow doesn’t smell like you and my heart is being dramatic.
You bite back a laugh.
That is exactly something he would say.
You’re typing a teasing reply when a sudden sound makes you sit up straight.
A car engine.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Stopping right in front of the house.
You stiffen. Your parents are asleep upstairs. Nobody should be visiting at this hour.
A door shuts.
Then footsteps. Heavy ones. Familiar ones.
Your heart drops.
“No way.”
You climb off the bed, tiptoe to the window, and gently lift the curtain.
A black SUV sits at the curb, engine still warm, parked crooked in a way that screams impatience and urgency.
And standing on the porch, rain dripping off his dark hair, wearing a black hoodie thrown over what is definitely a bulletproof vest—because of course he didn’t come here calmly—is your husband.
Jeon. Freaking. Jungkook.
You gasp.
He’s staring right at your window.
Like he knew you’d check.
His lower lip trembles.
He lifts his hand in a tiny wave.
Your phone buzzes again.
Jungkook <3:
Baby… open the door… please…
You facepalm, but your chest warms helplessly.
You rush down the stairs, trying not to wake your parents, and quietly unlock the front door.
The moment it opens, Jungkook practically collapses inside—wet, cold, and looking like an overgrown child who lost his favorite blanket.
He wipes his eyes.
No—he’s actually crying.
“Jungkook,” you whisper, panicked. “You drove here in the rain at night? Alone? Are you crazy?”
He sniffles hard and holds up his finger.
“One,” he says dramatically, voice cracking. “I didn’t drive alone—Yoongi drove, because I can’t drive when I’m sad.”
You blink. “…Okay?”
He holds up a second finger.
“Two… I am crazy. Exactly. For you.”
You sigh. He steps inside fully, shutting the door behind him with a pitiful whimper.
Then he wraps both arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck like you’ve been gone for years instead of a few hours.
“Don’t leave me,” he mumbles, voice thick. “Don’t sleep somewhere else. Don’t make me sleep in that big empty bed alone. Baby, do you know how cold that bed is without you? I swear the temperature drops twenty degrees.”
You rub his back gently. “Jungkook… I just came to visit my parents. I told you—”
“You said two nights!” he cries harder, muffled in your neck. “That’s forty-eight hours! That’s 2,880 minutes of pure suffering!”
You burst into laughter. “You counted?”
“Yes!” he pulls back, eyes glossy. “Every minute is torture.”
You cup his cheeks. His lashes are wet. His nose is pink. He looks like a mafia boss who lost a fight with a box of tissues.
“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper.
“And you love me,” he fires back instantly.
You can’t argue.
You thumb away a tear on his cheek. “You seriously couldn’t sleep?”
He shakes his head vigorously. “No. I kept hugging your pillow but it didn’t hug back. And I tried listening to the recording of your voice but it made me miss you more. And then—then I thought—what if—”
He stops.
His eyes drop.
“What if you liked being away from me?” he whispers shakily.
That hits you deep.
“koo,” you breathe, tugging him closer. “Baby. No. Never.”
His grip tightens like he’s afraid you’ll vanish between one blink and the next.
“Then come home,” he murmurs. “Please. Right now. I’ll carry you out if you say no.”
You soften. His hair is dripping onto your shirt. His hoodie is soaked. He’s trembling slightly—not from cold but from panic and clingy desperation.
“Just stay here tonight,” you whisper. “We’ll go home together in the morning.”
He stares at you with huge doe eyes.
“Together?” he repeats.
You nod.
He sniffs. “You promise?”
You smile. “I promise.”
And suddenly he brightens—like a switch flipped.
He presses his forehead to yours.
“You’re warm,” he whispers. “I missed this.”
Then he kisses you. Slow. Emotional. A little desperate.
In the middle of the kiss, he mumbles, “I swear when I woke up alone I almost declared war on something.”
You laugh into his lips.
He kisses you again.
Then again.
Until he pulls back, cheeks flushed. “Where do I sleep?”
You raise a brow. “Where do you think?”
He gasps. “With you?!”
You flick his forehead. “Stop pretending to be shocked.”
He giggles—actual giggles—and clings to your hand like a toddler.
As you lead him upstairs, he suddenly whispers, “Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“If your dad sees me… I just want you to know I’m willing to sprint out the window.”
You choke on your own breath. “Jungkook!”
“What?! He scares me! He once asked me what I ‘do for work,’ and I almost told him the truth. I can’t handle that kind of danger.”
You throw him a look. “You are danger.”
He hides behind you. “Not in front of your dad I’m not.”
You shake your head and pull him into your room, quietly closing the door.
He immediately dives onto your bed and spreads out like he owns the place, patting the spot beside him.
“Come here,” he whispers. “I need to hold you until I fall asleep. And maybe after. And forever.”
You crawl in beside him.
He wraps around you like a human koala, burying his face in your chest.
“Finally,” he sighs dramatically. “My wife. My pillow. My happiness. My oxygen.”
You tease, “You’re so clingy.”
“Yes,” he hums proudly. “And you married me anyway.”
His breathing slows.
His grip stays firm.
But right when you think he’s asleep, he whispers,
“Baby?”
“Yes?”
“Next time you leave the house for more than a hour… I’m coming with you.”
You laugh softly. “Geez! Goodnight, Jungkook.”
“Goodnight, love of my life,” he mumbles.
“Goodnight, owner of my last three brain cells.”
“Goodnight, woman who almost made me cry myself into dehydration.”
“Jungkook—sleep.”
He finally does.
Breathing softly against your collarbone, arms locked around you like he’ll never let go again.
When Your Cold Husband Shows His Obsession the Moment You Try to Leave | Jungkook ff
⚠️This story is fictional and created only for entertainment. It does not romanticize abuse or harmful behavior.
You sit at the edge of the massive king-sized bed, your fingers running over the cold silk sheets. They always stay cold… just like him.
The chill seeps into your fingertips, making you feel smaller in a home that no longer feels like yours. The silence in the room stretches thin, heavy enough to sit on your chest.
Your husband, Jeon Jungkook, walks past you without even looking. His footsteps are steady, rehearsed—as if he’s practiced the art of ignoring you. He closes the closet, adjusts his cufflinks, and grabs his briefcase with the same expression he gives strangers.
Blank.
Unbothered.
Emotionless.
“Don’t wait for me,” he says. The tone is flat. “I’ll be late.”
The words hit the air between you like cold wind. You force a small nod. “Okay.”
For a second—a single second—he pauses. His back stiffens. As if some part of him wants to look at you… wants to soften.
But the moment dies.
He turns away.
The door clicks shut.
The silence left behind feels louder than his presence ever has.
You’re left alone again.
Your marriage has felt like this for months:
you trying…
him refusing to even see you.
You stare at the door he vanished through, and today the weight on your chest finally cracks.
You’ve decided something:
You will leave.
You open your wardrobe, fingers trembling as you begin packing quietly. The soft rustle of clothes fills the empty room—your only company.
Every shirt folded.
Every memory ignored.
You move like you’re afraid the walls will wake up and stop you. When you pick up the framed wedding photo, your breath stutters. Jungkook wasn’t smiling in it. He looked stiff, distant.
You remember convincing yourself he was just nervous.
But maybe… maybe you were the only one who ever tried.
A tear falls, landing on the glass with a soft tap.
“No more,” you whisper.
Your voice cracks around the two words.
You grab your suitcase, the wheels echoing across the wooden floor as you pull it toward the door. Your heartbeat climbs into your throat with each step.
But the moment you reach the entrance—
The doorknob twists.
Your heart stops.
Your fingers go numb.
Jungkook walks in.
Too early. Too sudden.
He shouldn’t be home yet—not now, not today.
His eyes drop to your suitcase.
Then to your coat thrown over the armchair.
Then finally… to your face.
His jaw tightens. “What is this?”
You swallow the fear rising in your chest. You exhale shakily. “Jungkook… I’m leaving.”
The world freezes around his silence.
Jungkook steps closer, slow enough to make your pulse trip over itself. Every movement feels calculated, deliberate—like he’s containing something.
“What did you say?” His voice is calm. Too calm.
It makes your stomach twist.
“I can’t do this anymore. You don’t talk to me, you don’t look at me, you don’t—”
“Leave?” he repeats, slicing your words clean in half. “You think you can leave?”
You swallow hard. “I’m serious, Jungkook.”
For the first time in months, something flickers in his eyes.
Something dark.
Sharp.
Possessive.
He reaches out, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers. The touch is unexpectedly soft, but the energy behind it is anything but gentle.
“You’re my wife.”
You whisper, “I don’t feel like one.”
“That’s because you only see what I allow you to see,” he whispers.
Your breath stutters. “What does that mean?”
He smiles—a small twist of lips that makes your skin prickle.
“It means you don’t understand what you are to me.”
He takes your suitcase from your hand, fingers curling around the handle with ease.
You try to grab it back. “Jungkook—”
He lifts it with one hand and throws it across the living room. The loud crash makes you flinch violently, your pulse spiking.
“Sit,” he orders quietly.
“Jungkook, please—”
“I said sit.”
Your legs buckle before your mind catches up, and you drop onto the sofa. Your palms feel sweaty, your breath trapped somewhere in your ribs.
Jungkook stands in front of you, shoulders tense, breathing hard—not with anger, but something far more intense… controlled… dangerous.
“I’ve been patient,” he says. “I kept my distance because I didn’t want to scare you.”
Your eyes widen. “Scare me?”
He crouches down, leveling himself to your face. His gaze latches onto yours like a lock clicking into place.
“You think avoiding you means I don’t feel anything?” His voice trembles. “Every time I walk past you, do you know what I’m doing?”
You shake your head because you can’t find your voice.
“Controlling myself.”
Your breath shatters in your chest.
“I can’t look at you for too long,” Jungkook continues. “I can’t touch you the way I want. If I start… I won’t be able to stop.”
You feel the heat rush to your face, mixing fear and something else entirely.
“Jungkook—”
“I come home late because otherwise I’ll stay near you. I’ll take up all your space.”
His hand comes up, lifting your chin, forcing your eyes to lock with his.
“And I’ll make you mine in ways you won’t be able to walk away from.”
Your throat goes dry.
The cold husband you thought you married… was never cold.
He was suppressing something dangerous.
Something obsessive.
You whisper, barely audible, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He inhales sharply, standing up so abruptly it startles you. He paces the floor like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair with frustration simmering through every movement.
“Because if I let myself want you… I’d ruin you.”
“Jungkook, I—”
He turns, eyes burning like he’s barely holding himself together.
“But you packing your suitcase?”
He steps toward you, each footfall heavier than the last.
“That snapped something in me.”
He reaches for your wrist—not hurting you, but holding you in place with a firmness that leaves your pulse racing.
“You don’t get to leave me,” he murmurs. “Not now. Not ever.”
“Jungkook—”
“You want love?” He leans down, breath ghosting your lips. “Fine. I’ll show you love. I’ll give you every damn part of me. But don’t you dare walk away.”
Your heart pounds so hard it feels like your vision shakes.
“I-I just felt unloved…”
His expression breaks—cracks open like something fragile inside him couldn’t hold anymore.
And then, without warning, he pulls you into his chest.
You freeze—your body stunned, breath stuck—because he’s never hugged you like this. Never held you with desperation instead of distance.
His voice cracks near your ear.
“You have no idea what you do to me.”
Slowly… your arms rise, wrapping around him.
Jungkook pulls back just enough to cup your face. His thumbs stroke your cheeks, soft where he had been intense moments ago.
“I was scared,” he admits quietly. “That if I showed you what you really mean to me… you’d run.”
You let out a breathless laugh. “I almost did.”
His eyes darken with something tender, something fierce.
“You won’t anymore.”
“Why… why are you so sure?”
He leans in, forehead touching yours, trapping you in his warmth.
“Because now you finally know.”
“Know what?” you whisper.
His breath brushes your lips.
“That you’re the only thing I’m obsessed with.”
Your chest tightens, heat blooming under your skin.
He continues, voice low and raw:
“I don’t care about anything else in this world. Not work. Not people. Not rules. Just you. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”
You whisper, “Then… stay close.”
His breath stutters against your cheek.
Then he gives a soft, dangerous smile.
“Now you want me close?”
His eyes darken further.
“I hope you’re ready. Because I’m not letting you go anymore.”
Before you can react, he lifts you from the sofa effortlessly. Your breath catches, hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.
“Jungkook—”
He smirks, possessive and certain.
“You tried to leave. Now I’m keeping you exactly where you belong.”
In his arms.
Against his heartbeat.
Under his gaze.
He sits down with you on his lap, his arms locking around you as if the thought of letting go physically hurts him. You try to shift, but his grip tightens—protective, claiming.
“I’ll do better,” he says softly. “Not colder… warmer. Real. Honest. With you.”
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in the closeness you once begged for. “And I won’t run.”
His hands frame your waist, pulling you closer.
“You won’t have to,” he whispers. “Because from now on…”
His lips brush your ear, his voice sinking deep into you.
Trying to leave your crazy husband But He is already there | Taehyung ff
⚠️This story is fictional and created only for entertainment. It does not romanticize abuse or harmful behavior.
You never chose this marriage.
People like to say every bride glows on her wedding day, but when you stood beside Kim Taehyung, your smile felt like a mask glued onto your trembling face. Everyone else saw a perfect couple. But behind closed doors, you learned very quickly—
Taehyung didn’t want a wife.
He wanted a possession.
Tonight was supposed to be normal.
Quiet. Predictable.
The kind of evening where you walked on eggshells, hoping not to be the reason his mood shifted.
You were in the kitchen making dinner, hands shaking slightly as you chopped vegetables. The clock ticked. Wind moved outside. Everything was too silent.
Then the door unlocked.
Your stomach dropped.
Taehyung entered, shoulders relaxed, suit perfectly pressed, expression unreadable. He looked like the man strangers complimented — polite, charming, perfect.
He walked straight to you and pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head.
You flinched.
Not because it hurt —
but because his gentle moments never lasted long.
“Making dinner?” he asked softly, fingertips brushing your waist.
“Y-yeah,” you whispered.
He hummed, satisfied. “Good girl.”
And just like that, the tenderness vanished.
His grip tightened around your hip for half a second — too firm to be affection — before he walked away to change.
You exhaled shakily.
Another night.
Another performance.
---Dinner---
You set the table. Taehyung sat across from you, eating calmly, eyes on you more than his food. Every time your gaze dropped to your plate, you felt him staring.
“Eat more,” he said quietly.
You picked up your spoon obediently.
His control wasn’t loud. It was suffocating in silence.
---THE NIGHT---
You both lay in bed later, the moonlight slanting through the curtains. You lay tense, staring at the ceiling, pretending to sleep.
You heard him breathe.
Slow. Steady. Awake.
Then—
“Y/N,” he whispered.
Your heart stopped.
“Yes?” Your voice was tiny.
“What did you do today?” His tone was calm… too calm.
You hesitated. Taehyung hated hesitation.
“I… I was busy with chores. Laundry, cleaning… just normal things.”
Silence.
A heavy silence.
Then he chuckled quietly.
A sound that sent ice through your veins.
“Oh, really?” he said softly.
“But I saw you on your phone.”
Your blood ran cold.
Your breath hitched. “W-what? No, I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
His voice was still soft. That was the scary part.
You turned your head slightly. He was staring at you in the dark, eyes barely visible but you could feel the anger underneath the calm surface.
“Who were you talking to?” he asked.
“I wasn’t— I swear—”
He moved suddenly. His hand wrapped around your wrist under the blanket, not tight enough to bruise… but tight enough to warn.
“How did you see me… from work?” you whispered shakily.
His smile stretched slowly in the darkness.
“Ah. So now you’re curious.”
You froze.
He leaned closer, voice brushing your ear.
“I always see you, Y/N. Always.”
Your body turned to stone.
He released your wrist, turned onto his back, and closed his eyes as if nothing had happened.
But you stayed awake until dawn.
That was the moment you realized— If you didn’t run, you’d never survive him.
---THE ESCAPE---
You waited until he left the next morning.
Until the sound of his car faded.
Until the house fell silent.
Then you grabbed a bag you had secretly packed weeks ago, stuffed essential documents inside, and ran.
Taxi.
Airport.
Ticket in hand.
A shaking breath leaving your body for the first time in months.
You made it through security.
You reached the boarding gate.
Your freedom was right there.
You dared to believe you escaped.
For the first time in forever, your shoulders dropped.
Your chest loosened.
Your eyes stung with relief.
Then—
Someone stepped into your path.
Calm.
Composed.
Hands in pockets.
Kim Taehyung.
Your heartbeat crashed into your ribs.
He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable, like you merely bumped into him after work.
“Where are you planning to fly this late, sweetheart?” he asked.
Sweetheart.
Your blood froze.
He glanced at your suitcase, then back at you, smiling softly.
“Oh well… I’m really hurt that you forgot me behind.”
Your fingers went numb.
Your throat closed.
“But it’s fine,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face with chilling tenderness.
When Your Overprotective Mafia “Dad” Goes Feral Because You Didn’t Come Home on Time | Taehyung ff
⚠️This story is fictional and created only for entertainment. Strongly Platonic relationship.
The mansion is silent when you walk through the gates—too silent.
That’s the first sign you messed up.
The second sign is the sight of every single guard lined up in the hallway like they’re waiting for the president.
And the third sign?
A deep, dangerous voice echoing through the mansion:
“Nobody leaves until we find her.”
You wince.
Yep.
You’re dead.
You slip inside, closing the door quietly behind you, hoping—praying—you can sneak upstairs before Kim Taehyung finds out you came home two hours late.
Two hours.
Just two.
But the problem is… your mafia “dad” Taehyung doesn’t understand the concept of “just two hours.”
In his mind, if you’re not home on the dot, you’ve either been kidnapped, murdered, abducted by aliens, or—his most dramatic theory—lured away by boys.
You tiptoe past the living room, but you freeze when you hear a familiar voice murmur near your ear—
Very. Very. Close.
“Where have you been, princess?”
You jump a whole foot.
You don’t need to turn to know who it is.
Taehyung stands right behind you, arms crossed, black coat swirling around him, eyes dark and glinting like a disappointed father who also happens to be the most feared mafia leader in three cities.
You slowly turn.
He’s staring at you like you’re a runaway kitten he finally tracked down.
“Uhm…” you whisper. “I—I was—”
“Late.” His eyebrow twitches. “By two hours. And twenty-two minutes. And forty seconds.”
You blink. “Huh how- You tracked it?”
He looks offended. “Of course. I have a timer for whenever you’re not home.”
Of course he does.
He steps closer, towering over you.
“So, What happened?” His voice softens, but the tension doesn’t leave his body. “Did someone touch you? Did someone follow you? Did someone—”
You cut him off, raising your hands. “I was at the café! My phone died so-”
Taehyung’s jaw drops.
It’s like you told him the sky fell.
“Your phone… died?” he repeats, whispering it like it’s the most tragic thing he’s ever heard. “Sweetheart, do you understand what that did to me?”
“Dad—”
He holds up a hand.
“No, no, don’t speak. Let me process.”
He inhales dramatically.
Then he starts pacing.
Hands in his hair.
Muttering to himself.
“Oh my god, your phone died… you didn’t call… didn’t text… Why didn’t I implant a tracker in your shoe when I had the chance?!”
“Eh what—”
“I knew I should’ve chipped you like a cat!”
You choke on your own breath. “I AM NOT a cat!”
“I didn’t say you were." He sighs, hand on his chest as if he might have a heart attack at any moment. "I.. I said you’re like a cat. You wander. You get lost. You don’t tell anyone where you’re going.” He gestures wildly. “And then I panic!”
You step forward, resting your hand on his shoulder.
He looks at it.
Then at you.
Then his bottom lip wobbles.
Oh no.
Taehyung is about to cry.
“Dad...! really? Tears? Again?”
He glares. “You don’t get to judge me. I was THIS close to burning down the town looking for you.”
“You can’t burn down a town every time I’m late.”
“Yes I can!” He points at his chest. “I am your father. It is in the job description.”
You sigh and pull him into a hug.
He melts instantly.
Literally collapses into you like a six-foot toddler.
Arms wrapping around you tight.
Face buried in your shoulder.
“You scared me,” he whispers, voice shaking. “I thought something happened to you.”
“I’m fine,” you murmur, rubbing his back.
“You weren’t answering, and I imagined the worst.” He sniffles against quietly.
“I know.”
“And Hoseok kept asking if he should mobilize the strike team.”
“I know.”
“And Jimin was already polishing his gun.” He continues, “And Jungkook tried to raid every street for security footage.”
“that… that sounds like them...” You hesitate.
He pulls back, hands gripping your shoulders.
“Promise me,” he says sternly, “promise me that you will ALWAYS text me. Even if your phone is at one percent. Even if you’re busy. Even if you’re choking on a cookie. I don’t care. TEXT ME.”
You try not to laugh. “Okay, okay. I’ll text.”
He narrows his eyes. “Say it properly.”
You sigh dramatically. “Aishh... I will always text you..!!! Promise!"
He beams instantly.
There it is—the switch from scary mafia boss to proud parent who thinks you hung the moon.
“Good.” He ruffles your hair like a child. “Now come. I made dinner.”
“You cooked?”
“Yes,” he says with a sigh. “Because you weren’t home, and I stress-cooked an entire feast that no one was allowed to touch until you came back.”
Your eyes widen. “Seriously…”
He suddenly pulls you back into another hug.
This one tighter.
More emotional.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispers. “You’re my kid. I don’t care if you’re grown. I’ll always worry.”
You soften completely.
“I know, I know,” you murmur.
He clears his throat. “Now come eat before the others finish everything. They’ve been ‘taste-testing’ for the last hour.”
You gasp. “What?!”
Taehyung grabs your wrist dramatically and storms toward the dining hall.
“Out of the way!” he shouts to the others. “My daughter’s home and she’s starving!”
You Fell Asleep in Your Distant Husband’s Arms… But It Wasn’t Him | Taehyung ff
⚠️This story is fictional and created only for entertainment. It does not romanticize abuse or harmful behavior.
The living room was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the wall clock.
11:48 PM.
Taehyung should’ve been home an hour ago.
You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, trying not to overthink it. His schedule was unpredictable, always shifting, always draining him. The least you could do was stay awake for him.
You weren’t expecting the keys to jingle in the lock at that exact moment.
You sat up straighter. “Tae?”
The door clicked open.
Taehyung stepped inside — shoulders relaxed, hair slightly tousled, his coat hanging from his elbow. He looked tired… but in a soft way you hadn’t seen in months. No stress line between his brows. No frustrated sighs. No tension in his jaw.
Just him. Warm. Calm.
You smiled. “You’re early today.”
His eyes lifted to yours, and a small smile pulled at his lips — slow, tender, almost shy.
“Yeah,” he murmured, closing the door gently behind him.
“I wanted to come home. To you.”
…That was unusual.
Your chest warmed anyway. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”
Instead of answering, he walked toward you. Not in his normal, heavy-footed, exhausted way — but quiet, measured, almost graceful. His gaze didn’t leave your face for even a second.
He sat beside you on the couch, his knee brushing yours.
“You waited for me?” he asked softly.
You chuckled. “Of course.”
He hummed, something like approval in his eyes.
“I missed this.”
You blinked. “Missed what?”
“You. Sitting here. Looking at me.”
You stared at him for a moment.
This was… not his usual tone. Taehyung wasn’t cold, but affection was never random with him. He showed care through actions, not soft lines and lingering looks.
Tonight… he was different.
Beautifully different.
You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Long day?”
“Not anymore,” he murmured, his voice close to your ear.
His hand came up slowly — almost reverently — brushing a knuckle down your cheek.
Your breath caught.
“T-Taehyung?”
He smiled gently. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay like this.”
His thumb traced the corner of your lips.
You felt a shiver — not fear, just the kind of electricity you get when someone you love finally shows you the softness you always wished for.
He shifted closer.
“Let me hold you,” he whispered.
And you did.
You let him wrap his arms around you, pull you against his chest, your face pressed to the warm fabric of his shirt. He smelled slightly different — not his usual cologne. Something deeper, richer, like rain on pavement and pine.
You didn’t question it.
People change scents all the time.
His palm slid up your back, slow, soothing.
“You’re warm,” he murmured against your hair.
“I wondered if you always felt like this.”
You looked up at him. “You’re being really sweet today.”
He laughed quietly. “Is that a problem?”
“No… it’s nice. Really nice. I missed this too.”
His smile softened, eyes turning half-lidded.
He cupped your face lightly.
“I think I should have been like this from the beginning,” he whispered.
“I think I should’ve cherished you more.”
Your heart stuttered. “W-Where is this coming from?”
He didn’t answer.
He just leaned in — not to kiss you, but to rest his forehead against yours. His breath warmed your lips.
“I’m finally realizing what I want.”
You whispered, “And what’s that?”
“You,” he said simply. “Completely.”
Your cheeks heated. Your heart pounded.
But you weren’t scared — you were… flustered. Softened.
He pulled you closer, tucking you under his chin. His hand stroked your hair again and again, rhythmic, slow, memorizing.
You didn’t know how long you stayed like that. Minutes? An hour? The world blurred into warmth and Taehyung and the way his heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your ear.
Eventually, you grew sleepy against him.
Your voice was drowsy. “You’re really different today, Tae…”
A quiet hum vibrated in his chest.
“I’m just being myself,” he whispered.
“The version of me you’ve been waiting for.”
You were too tired to process that.
Your eyelids drooped.
You felt his lips press lightly to your forehead — soft, lingering, almost possessive.
You were already half-drifting when Taehyung’s hand slid through your hair, fingertips moving with a tenderness that bordered on hypnotic.
“Sleep,” he whispered, voice low and velvet-soft.
“I’ll watch over you.”
Your eyes fluttered closed automatically. The warmth of his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing. The way his arms circled your waist like you were something precious.
It felt safe.
Warmer than usual.
Different.
But you were too tired to question why.
Your last conscious thought was a faint smile.
“Goodnight… Tae…”
He hummed — a sound too smooth, too satisfied — and pulled you closer.
Within minutes, you fell fully asleep.
Your breathing deepened.
Your body relaxed against him.
The room stayed silent.
Too silent.
Like the air itself was holding its breath.
The man holding you didn’t move at first.
His chin rested on top of your head.
His eyes remained on you.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
Minutes passed.
Five… six… ten…
He didn’t shift.
Didn’t adjust his posture.
Didn’t show a single sign of breathing.
Then—
Your phone, lying face-up beside the couch cushion…
lit up.
The screen glowed in the dim room, casting a faint light over your sleeping face.
A new message appeared.
Taehyung 💜:
I’ll be working late tonight. Don’t wait for me. Get some rest.
The man’s eyes slowly drifted toward the light.
His head tilted at an angle a human neck shouldn’t tilt — precise, sharp, wrong — as he read the message without moving his body.
His lips parted.
And then…
He smiled.
Not a soft smile.
Not Taehyung’s smile.
Not a gentle, fond curve.
No.
This one stretched.
And stretched.
And stretched.
Too wide.
Far too wide.
Corners of his mouth pulling back so unnaturally that his cheeks strained, skin tightening, bones shifting beneath.
His smile climbed higher and higher until—
It almost reached his ears.
A grotesque, monstrous grin…
wearing Taehyung’s beautiful face.
Your sleeping form shifted slightly against him, unaware of the horror inches away.
His head lowered to yours, that impossible smile still carved into his features.
His breath brushed your ear — cold now, colder than before.
“Good,” he whispered.
Not in Taehyung’s voice.
Lower.
Echoing.
Hungry.
“I told you,” he murmured, stroking your cheek with fingers that were now too long, too still.
“I’ll watch over you.”
Your phone dimmed, screen going dark again.
The room fell silent.
And in the darkness, the creature wearing Taehyung’s face…
Your psycho "brother" wants to have you all to himself | Jungkook ff
⚠️This story is fictional and created only for entertainment.
You learned early that your older brother, Jeon Jungkook, wasn’t like other kids.
Other kids grew up. Jungkook only grew sharper.
You got used to it—the way his eyes followed you, the way his fingers tightened when someone else tried to hold your hand, the way he stood too close behind you when you talked to someone he didn’t approve of.
It wasn’t affection.
It was possession.
And you’ve been living inside that cage since childhood.
---
You’re halfway through brushing your hair when the bedroom door clicks open without a knock.
Of course.
Jungkook walks in like the room belongs to him. Maybe, in his mind, it does.
His dark hoodie is still damp from the rain outside, droplets sliding down the fabric as he leans against the doorframe.
His eyes sweep over you—cold, calculating, and far too familiar.
“Who were you talking to?” he asks.
His voice doesn’t rise. It never needs to. Jungkook learned long ago that quiet threats land deeper.
You glance at your phone on the bed.
“Just Minji,” you say. “She wanted help with—”
“With what?” he cuts in.
You swallow. "Uhm... a school project.”
He pushes off the doorframe and steps toward you. Slow. Deliberate. Each footstep eats up the space you thought you had.
When he reaches you, he takes your phone without permission—he never asks—and checks your messages right in front of you.
He scrolls.
His jaw clenches.
“Don’t lie to me again.”
The words aren’t loud. They don’t need to be. You’ve heard them your whole life.
Your chest tightens—but not with fear.
Not anymore.
You’ve grown used to this. To him.
Maybe too used to it.
---
Jungkook sets your phone down with a muted thud.
Then he looks at you—really looks at you. Like he’s dissecting every muscle in your face, trying to detect defiance.
“You’re spending too much time with other people,” he says.
You blink. “But, Minji is—”
“Do you think I care what her name is?” His voice drops lower, colder.
“I don’t like when they pull you away.”
“Huh....! They’re not—”
His hand suddenly wraps around your wrist.
Not painfully.
Just firmly enough to remind you that escape isn’t an option.
“It’s only us,” he murmurs. “It’s always been only us.”
You exhale shakily.
He’s said this so many times the words are almost a lullaby.
Almost.
You don’t argue.
You learned years ago that objections only make the cage smaller.
“Okay,” you whisper.
His grip softens instantly.
He smiles—soft, relieved, terrifying.
“Good girl.”
---
He follows you into the kitchen like a shadow glued to your spine. Jungkook doesn’t like being more than two steps away from you in the house.
His back leaning against the counter, watching you like someone might walk in any second and steal you.
You can feel his gaze burning into your back.
“You’re quiet,” he mutters.
“I... am working...” you reply without turning.
“That’s not a reason.”
“.........”
You hear him slide off the counter.
A moment later, he’s behind you—close enough that his breath brushes the back of your neck.
“You used to talk more,” he says. “When we were kids.”
You freeze at the childhood reference.
He loves bringing it up, reminding you that you’ve belonged to him longer than you’ve belonged to yourself.
“You used to only look at me,” he adds.
You close your eyes for a moment.
He’s not wrong. Back then, he was the only constant you had. The only one who protected you, shielded you, controlled you—whatever the difference even was.
When you don’t respond, he gently takes the spoon out of your hand and turns you to face him.
His eyes search yours, too intense, too familiar.
“Don’t drift away from me,” he whispers.
“I can’t handle that.”
Your heartbeat stutters.
Not out of fear.
Out of recognition.
Because you know this version of him—this fragile, obsessive, unpredictable version—better than you know your own reflection.
“I’m not...” you murmur.
Another soft smile appears. As if your reassurance is oxygen.
