!! Welcome to my masterlist. I wanted to have everything in one place so it’s easier for you to find my works. Also thank you so much for reading, it really means a lot to me ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
If you enjoy anything, please leave a comment or some feedback, I’d love to hear your thoughts.
im so so sorry, but the next chapter is gonna be delayed a bit! life’s been crazy busy so i haven't had much time to write lately, and next week is looking super packed too.
just wanted to drop in and give u all a heads up so u weren't left hanging! thank u so much for being patient with me, i promise I’m working on it as soon as things slow down!
I know you haven’t yet but please don’t disappear on us i have had so many great authors just disappear over the years no explanation im traumatised,this is not to pressure you or such .There will be days when you can’t update as you usually do but I hope you are comfortable enough to speak with us casually and let us know if you take time off ,you’re a great author and person ,I hope to connect with you more over the years 🙂
-🦋
Hiiii!! <3 I'm not disappearing, dw!
I might just have to update things a bit slower for now tho... I honestly thought I’d have so much more free time over the summer, but things got a bit complicated, so I haven't had as much time to write recently.
But I promise with my whole soul that I will finish FTDBI without ditching it, I could never do that to you guys! Thank you so, so much for the sweet message, love uuuuu 🥹💓𐙚
Oc say jealousy doesn't suit Jungkook, it suits him so much 🤣. He really got jealous of someone who is barely alive 😭. So cute. Hope oc claims that man soon. That kiss scene is so hot 🥹 , they deserve it so much after what they had been through.
I hope the money didn't get stolen or anything, and oc can adopt Jungkook. I am thinking maybe our oc can get a job at hoseok , since she works in the hospital before, I mean that the least she can do for hoseok after borrowing his money 😂 . Anyway it is a good chapter, thank you for updating. May you have a nice week. 😘
Aww, thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter! 🥹💓aaand let's just say we'll have to see what happens with the money and if Y/N can make things work for Jungkook... im not spoiling ☺️
Thank you so much for reading and for all the love!! I hope you have an amazing week ahead too, love u! xx 💓𐙚
Just binge read feral things don’t belong inside… what a story. Not usually a fan of hybrid fics but I was intrigued by the premise and read the first chapter anyway and I was instantly hooked!! Your writing is so good, and the plot is realt good, I was genuinely trying to predict what would happen in each chapter and I was wrong everytime lol
OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 🥹💓im happy you gave it a chance and ty for taking the time to leave such sweet feedback! 💓💓💓
𝓢𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: ˚25/21 on the tv (for the tenth time), a tub of biscoff ice cream, and a very, very attention-starved boyfriend who refuses to share the spotlight with baek Yi-jin. ˚
𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮: Established Relationship · Fluff to Smut · Jealousy/Teasing · Domestic Comfort
𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: 18+, Contains explicit sexual content (smut), praise/submission dynamics, mild dirty talk, jealousy, clothing removal, stripping, and unprotected penetrative sex.
𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 3.1k
°°° °°° °°° °°° °°°
It is 1:30AM, the quietest hour of the night, where the rest of the world seems completely suspended in sleep.
You, however, are wide awake.
You adjust your position on the sofa, pulling your knees up to your chest inside the voluminous fabric of an oversized t-shirt (one of Jungkook’s, naturally) which carries the comforting scent of fabric softener. Underneath, you only wear your pink panties. Your hair is piled into a completely chaotic, messy bun on top of your head, stray strands falling into your eyes.
You had dressed for a lazy night of hanging out with Jungkook, but three hours earlier, he collapsed onto your shared bed, utterly exhausted from his intense schedule. Left to your own devices and bored out of your mind, you migrate to the couch, seeking comfort in familiarity.
Which of course means that you are re-watching Twenty-Five Twenty-One for from something like tenth time already.
In your hands, you cradle a tube of Biscoff ice cream (The good kind; the one packed with thick, crunchy biscuit bits that require a bit of effort to dig out. ) You dig your silver spoon into the caramel-swirled cream, mining for a particularly large chunk of cookie while your eyes remain glued to the screen.
It is the scene. The scene. The one where Na Hee-do and Baek Yi-jin are running through the night after turning on the school’s outdoor water fountains, transforming the mundane courtyard into a spraying, sparkling wonderland. The music swells, the pure, nostalgic youth of the characters radiating through the screen.
You lean forward slightly, an involuntary smile tugging at the corners of your lips. It is your absolute favorite moment in the entire drama. Every single time you watch it, it makes your chest ache with a specific kind of longing.
Click.
The faint sound of the bedroom door unlatching cuts through the swelling K-drama soundtrack.
A moment later, a sleepy Jungkook emerges into the dim light. His dark hair is a wild mess, sticking up in different directions from the pillows. His eyes are half-laced with sleep, blinking heavily against the soft glow of the television, and his lips are naturally pouted out in that vulnerable way they always are whenever he first wakes up.
He looks soft, entirely stripped of his stage persona. Without saying a word, he drifts toward the couch, and automatically gravitates into your space, as he presses himself next to you on the sofa.
Before you can even adjust to his sudden presence, Jungkook leans down, his lips brushing against the bare skin of your shoulder where the oversized t-shirt has slipped down. He presses a soft peck there, the heat of his mouth sending a quiet shiver straight down your spine.
Then, with a heavy sigh, he drops his chin right onto your shoulder, nuzzling his face against the side of your neck. His hair brushes against your jawline, tickling your skin as he clings to you, still deeply wrapped in the haze of sleep.
"Why aren't you sleeping, baby?" he murmurs, his breath fanning against your neck as his arms blindly reach around the cushions to find your waist.
"I wasn't really tired," you say softly, tilting your head a fraction to make room for him.
You shift into a more comfortable position against the plush sofa cushions, settling your back against the solid plane of his chest. Even as you move, Jungkook refuses to detach himself; his face remains on your shoulder, while his arms finally secure themselves tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
Reaching down, you dig your spoon back into the pint, mining for another perfect chunk of biscuit bits. You lift the silver spoon up and guide it right under his mouth. "Open."
Jungkook doesn't even open his eyes all the way. He just blindly parts his lips, taking the cold, sweet bite off the spoon. He let's a low hum of approval, the vibration vibrating directly against your spine as he swallows the rich cream.
You smile, digging out another spoonful for yourself and popping it into your mouth. Your eyes quickly dart back to the tv screen, trying to catch up on the scene, but Jungkook can’t seem to sit still. The quiet innocence of his sleepiness is already beginning to melt away. The coldness of the ice cream still lingers on his lips as he begins to trail them slowly again up your neck, finding the sensitive spot right under your ear and pressing a slow kiss there.
"Kook. Stop, I'm watching," you murmur, a breathless laugh escaping you as you try to shrug your shoulder to ward off the electric spark his lips leave behind.
He doesn't stop. Instead, he shifts his weight, drawing his head back just enough to look at you. "Why are you watching that if you can have romance right here?"
A soft snort escapes your nose at his sheer audacity. Before you can even retort, Jungkook moves, his broad shoulders coming directly into your line of sight. He completely blocks out the screen, replacing the flickering light of the K-drama with the sharp line of his jaw and his dark, hooded eyes. He leans in, his lips pressing a short, firm, and warm kiss right against the front of your throat, exactly where your voice box is.
The sudden sensation makes you gasp softly, your head instinctively tilting back, your chin lifting up to give him space, while the characters on the screen are in the middle of a sweeping, emotional confession, their dialogue pouring out into the quiet room.
But Jungkook doesn't care about the script.
"...Y/N," he let's a needy murmur against your skin.
Letting out a soft sigh, you reach out with one hand, blindly grabbing the remote from under the pillow, and click the pause button. You look at him fully this time, both of your hands now tightly squeezing the sides of the cardboard ice cream bucket in your lap, your knuckles turning a little white under his gaze.
"You're not gonna let me watch it, right?"
Jungkook lets out a breathless huff of a laugh, his head tilting slightly to the side as a slow, lazy grin spreads across his lips. It's a beautiful, mischievous expression that tells you everything you need to know.
"Nope."
You shake your head amused by his stubbornness, and dig the spoon back into the softening pint one more time. You lift another generous bite of the ice cream to his lips, and Jungkook takes it cleanly. But he doesn't pull away this time. His dark eyes intensly lock onto yours, holding your gaze with a focus that makes your breath hitch. As he finishes the bite, his front teeth intentionally trap the silver spoon, holding it firmly between his lips, refusing to let you pull it back.
Your heart flutter at the immediate shift in the room's atmosphere.
Before you can even react, the hand that was resting at your waist wraps around you fully, then in one fluid motion, Jungkook pulls you up and guides you until you are fully straddling his lap. With his other hand, he reaches down, taking the heavy bucket of ice cream completely out of your grip and setting it carelessly onto the arm of the sofa.
With the ice cream gone, he tilts back against the cushions of the couch, drawing you down with him so you feel the full heat of him beneath you. The long hem of thr oversized shirt rides up high over your bare thighs, leaving only the soft pink lace of your panties between your skin and his sweatpants.
Reaching up, your fingers gently take the silver spoon from his mouth, a quiet laugh escaping you as you plunge it straight down into the center of the ice cream bucket so it stays upright.
Then you shift closer, your hands moving naturally to rest flat against the sides of his neck. Jungkook looks up at you from his reclined position, his gaze dark, hooded, and intensely focused on your face. His hands slide smoothly beneath the wide hem of the big shirt, the heat of his palms making direct contact with the bare skin of your hips, his thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin.
"You are so annoying," you murmur softly, though there is absolutely no venom in your voice. Your fingers gently trace the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.
"I just missed you."
"Jungkook, I was right here," you whisper, a soft smile breaking across your face as you look down at his rumpled, handsome face. "I've been in the house the whole time."
"Nah," he grumbles softly, his chin tilting up just a fraction as he points toward the paused screen behind your shoulder. "Mindly, you were over there. Thirsting over Baek Yi-jin."
A genuine laugh escapes your lips again. The absurdity of him being genuinely envious of a fictional character from a drama you have already seen so many times is peak Jungkook. You reach up with one finger, gently pushing your stray bangs out of your eyes so you can look at him clearly.
"You're not wrong," you tease softly, leaning down just a fraction of an inch until your breath fans over his lips. "He is very charming."
Jungkook’s eyes darken instantly at your words, the lazy amusement in his expression shifting into something much heavier. Before you can tease him any further, the hand resting on your waist begins to move. His palm travels up the sensitive skin of your ribs, his fingers trailing a path of pure fire up your spine. The sudden, intimate heat of his touch makes a violent shiver run straight up your back, your shoulders tensing as you instinctively lean closer into his chest.
"How many times are you going to watch this stuff anyway?" he mumbles, his voice low. "Even I have half of the dialogues memorized because of you."
Your fingers tangle into the soft, messy curls at the nape of his neck. "Till the day I die, probably."
Jungkook lets out a mocking scoff, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "We'll see about that."
Before you can even process the dare in his voice, his fingers find the clasp of your bra. With a single flick the hooks part. Your eyes widen in pure surprise, a small gasp catching in your throat as the straps slacken.
You pull back just enough to look down at him, a playful scold on your lips. "Hey, don't rush. I'm returning to my show as soon as you behave."
Jungkook tilts his head, a dangerous chuckle vibrating in his throat. "Who said anything about letting you go back to it?"
He shifts, sitting up much straighter against the sofa cushions. The movement brings you higher, your thighs gripping his waist tightly as he hooks his fingers into the hem of the oversized white t-shirt. In one smooth motion, he pulls the fabric up and over your head, tossing it onto the floor, along with your bra.
The cool air of the living room hits your bare skin, making your breath hitch, but before you can even complain, Jungkook’s hands are back on your waist, holding you in place. His eyes sweep over you with an intense, possessive appreciation that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.
"Look at you," His voice rough and thick as his gaze lingers on the contrast of the pink lace against your skin. "You're barely making any effort for your boyfriend, hm? Sitting here in my clothes, ignoring me for hours."
You open your mouth to defend yourself, but the words turn into a sharp, breathy moan as Jungkook leans forward and buries his face in your chest. His lips are hot, pressing a slow, bruising kiss right against the slope of your breast, his tongue lightly darting out to lick at your skin.
You arch into him, your hands desperately gripping his broad shoulders for balance as another wave of shivers hits your body. "I am making an effort," you pant out softly, your fingers digging into his shirt. "It’s just... low effort."
Jungkook scoffs against your skin, his hands gripping your bare hips tightly, pulling you impossibly closer against his lap.
"Yeah? Then let me show you what high effort looks like."
He doesn't give you a second to breathe. Leaning in, he presses one last, lingering lick to your sensitive nipple, making your entire body twitch before his mouth moves upward. He leaves a trail of stinging little bites from the center of your chest all the way up to your collarbone, marking your skin with a needy possessiveness.
You gasp at the sharp, sweet sensation, your fingers tangling desperately into his hair. Before you can recover, Jungkook shifts his head and finds your mouth, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.
The heat between you boils over instantly.
Guided by the friction of the kiss, you begin to grind down against him, your hips rolling slowly against his lap. The movement causes a low growl from Jungkook's chest. Your hands slide down from his shoulders, slipping under the hem of his shirt to press flat against his abdomen.
The moment your palms make contact with his rock-hard, heavily defined abs (the clear result of how often he's been working out lately) a breathless moan escapes into his mouth. Just the tactile sensation of his toned torso beneath your fingers makes your head spin.
Jungkook breaks the kiss with a sharp inhale, his breathing heavy and ragged as your movements drive him crazy. His large hands slide down from your waist, his thumbs slipping beneath your pink lace panties to find your center. He begins to rub firm circles right over your clothed heat. The intense pleasure hits you instantly. You throw your head back, your spine arching as you ride out the wave of heat pooling between your thighs.
Seeing the vulnerable line of your throat, Jungkook leans up, his dark eyes hooded as he watches your expression. "You like that, hm?"
You moan, your eyes tightly shut as his thumbs keep up the agonizingly perfect rhythm. He leans in closer, his lips pressing against the side of your throat. "I can't hear you, Y/N. Tell me."
Frustrated by the teasing and completely overwhelmed by the friction of his hands, you shift your weight, your fingers digging tightly into his sides.
"Stop asking stupid questions," you pant out, opening your eyes to glare at him with absolute desire.
Jungkook’s eyes flash with pure amusement. He cuts off any further complaints by pulling you into another fierce, demanding kiss, completely consuming your mouth until you're entirely breathless. When he finally pulls away, his hands grip your hips firmly, lifting you slightly as his dark gaze locks onto yours.
"Stand up," he commands softly.
You push yourself up, your knees leaving the sides of his thighs as you stand fully in front of him. You are slightly surprised when you realize he isn't moving with you; instead, Jungkook just leans back comfortably against the sofa cushions, spreading his arms out over the backrest. A deeply satisfied smirk pulls at the corners of his lips as his dark eyes slowly track up and down your body, taking in the sight of you standing right in front of him in just your pink lace panties, with your hair completely disheveled .
"What are you waiting for?" he cocks his eyebrows up. "Strip for me, baby."
A quiet huff escapes your lips, a sudden wave of heat rushing to your cheeks as his intense gaze burns right through you. Under the weight of his attention, you slowly hook your fingers into the sides of the lace. You slide them down your hips, stepping out of the fabric. His eyes chase the movement with rapt, hungry focus, and a pleased hum escapes his throat the moment you are completely naked before him.
Jungkook doesn't waste another second. He sits forward, his large hands reaching down to grip the waistband of his heather-grey sweatpants, pushing them down along with his boxers to free his length, already fully hard and waiting for you.
"C'mere," he breathes, his dark eyes snapping back up to yours.
You step closer and straddle his lap once more, the heat of his skin shocking your senses as you settle over him. Jungkook’s hands instantly find your hips again, his strong fingers anchoring you as he guides the tilt of your pelvis, aligning you perfectly before he slowly pushes up into you. A breathless gasp leaves your lips, your hands flying to his broad shoulders for support as he fills you completely.
He lets out a ragged groan against your neck, his hips rolling in a slow, upward surge that makes your toes curl.
"You're so greedy tonight," you pant out, your fingers digging into the firm muscles of his back as he guides your rhythm, dictating the agonizingly deep pace.
"Can you blame me? I wake up, and my girl is out here staring at the TV, completely ignoring me for some fictional guy."
"Jealous?," you whisper, teasing him, trying to ignore the ache growing between your thighs.
He huffs bitterly. "When I'm in the room, your eyes are supposed to be on me. Understand?"
He leans up, his lips brushing against yours, his hot breath mingling with your shallow pants.
"As you please," you breathe out.
The submission in your voice is all it takes to break the last of his restraint. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens until his knuckles turn white, and he begins to pound into you, relentless and deep, the rhythm fast and unforgiving. Each thrust sends a shockwave of pleasure through your core, making your back arch and your nails dig into his shoulders.
Each thrust feels impossibly deep. He fills you so perfectly, so entirely, that every single drop of your focus is pulled right to the center of your core where the pleasure is building into something overwhelming.
You feel completely weak under his touch, your limbs heavy and trembling, entirely at the mercy of the powerful, upward surges of his hips. Your hands grip his broad shoulders desperately as you melt into his heat. Jungkook doesn't slow down, his breathing growing ragged and loud in the quiet room as he completely takes over the rhythm.
And right behind your head, forgotten in the dim living room, the tv screen remains completely frozen. Baek Yi-jin stays perfectly paused mid-sentence, looking straight ahead into the room as if he is forced to watch the entire dramatic confession get thoroughly outdone by a very, very needy boyfriend.
° 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: Hi!!!🥹 First time posting, kinda nervous. I really wanted to do smth cozy n domestic, and just a little bit spicy (a tint tiny bit lol) Plus ++ needy boyfriend Jungkook is my absolute fav trope to ever exist, so I couldn't resist making him the star of my first post ♡♡♡ Please excuse the mess while I figure out my rhythm around here! Comments and feedback are always welcome!!! ˚⊹:⟢
The neon sign outside hums with a low, dying buzz, casting a rhythmic blue pulse through the glass front doors. Inside, the lobby of the Blue Hour Motel is a graveyard of mismatched furniture and your rapidly evaporating will to live, smelling of industrial lavender cleaner layered over the faint, salty grease of a pepperoni pizza
You’re four hours deep into the shift. The "witching hour."
You’re practically horizontal, spine curved into the ergonomic nightmare of an office chair, legs extended straight out with your shoes resting on the laminate counter. To your left, a pizza box sits open on a cramped cupboard, a half-eaten slice currently shoved into your mouth. You nearly choke, coughing back a piece of crust as you frantically click the computer mouse with your free hand.
The ancient box TV perched on a bracket in the corner begins to flicker, the image dissolving into static-heavy waves. You lean over, giving the side of the plastic casing a practiced, sharp thwack with your palm.
The picture snaps back into focus.
[TV Subtitles]: The Emperor penguin will copulate several times a day during the breeding season, enduring sub-zero temperatures to ensure the survival of the chick.
"Lucky you," you mumble through a mouthful of cheese, huffing a dry laugh. That’s a lot of effort for a bird.
You divide your attention between the penguin’s love life and the flickering monitor of the security feed.
Specifically, camera no.3: the third-floor hallway. You’re on high alert for Miss Lory in Room 010. The woman is sweet, but her sleepwalking is an Olympic sport. After she tried to "shortcut" her way to the parking lot through a closed two-story window last week, you’ve made it your personal mission to keep her grounded. You aren't in the mood to fill out an incident report involving a flying octogenarian.
The lobby feels like a dreamscape. To your left, the front doors are blurred by the torrential rain lashing against the glass. Directly across from your spot stands the vending machine (read as: the bane of your existence.) You’d tried to treat yourself to a Diet Coke earlier, but the machine held it hostage. After a series of aggressive shakes and one well-placed kick, the can plummeted, hit the tray, and turned into a carbonated grenade.
Now, there’s a dark, tacky stain on the floor covering where it sprayed. You stare at it, the sticky residue glinting in the blue light. I’ll clean it at 3:00 AM, you promise yourself. Maybe.
The rain picks up, a dull roar against the roof, until—
The glass front door groans open.
A figure slips inside, moving with an easy, unbothered confidence. He doesn't head for the desk. Instead, just cuts through the lobby as if he’s done it a hundred times before, shoulders relaxed, pace steady, like rules are more of a suggestion than anything else. He’s dripping—no, he is saturated—leaving a trail of rainwater across your floor.
"Hey!"
The word jumps out of your throat before you can even swallow your pizza. You scramble to drop your legs from the counter, the chair nearly tipping over as you stand up to regain your professional (mostly) composure.
"Check-in is at the desk, not the hallway, buddy!"
The boy freezes. He slowly turns around, pushing a mop of soaking wet, raven hair out of his eyes. As he steps into the glow of the flickering penguin documentary, your heart does a weird, uncoordinated skip against your ribs.
He’s... ridiculous.
Even drenched, with his white t-shirt clinging to his chest and water droplets racing down his jawline, he looks like he belongs on a billboard, not a budget motel in the middle of a storm. He has this sharp, troublemaker-like tilt to his mouth and eyes that look way too bright for someone wandering around at midnight.
He looks at you, then at the half-eaten pizza, then back to your face. A slow, cocky smirk begins to pull at the corner of his lips.
"Caught me," he says, his voice a low, raspy hum that vibrates through the quiet lobby. "You usually yell at all your guests, or am I special?"
"Usually, the ones who think they’re exempt from the concept of check-in.”
You catch a flash of surprised amusement in his dark eyes, his eyebrows twitching upward as if he hadn't expected you to bite back.
Realizing you’re still holding a crust like a weapon, you clear your throat, shove the pizza box aside with a hurried thud, and drop into your chair. You force your spine into a professional-ish posture, though your socks are still damp from the Diet Coke explosion earlier.
"Front and center." you command, gesturing to the space before your desk. "Let's see if we can get you into a room before you drown the lobby."
He chuckles, a low, throaty sound, and saunters over. Every step is lazy, unhurried, as if the torrential downpour outside is just a minor aesthetic choice he made for the evening. He stops at the desk, leaning his hip against the wood.
As you pull up the check-in software, the glow of the monitor catches his face just right. It highlights the sharp, crystalline droplets clinging to his eyelashes and the way his damp skin glimmers. Then you see it: a tiny, singular mole tucked just beneath his bottom lip.
God, that’s cute, you think, your gaze lingering a second too long. Wait. Abort mission. He’s just a midnight shift guest !Do not blush!
"ID," you say, your voice a little sharper than intended as you snap your eyes back to the screen. "And a credit card for the deposit"
He tilts his head, a damp lock of hair falling over his eye. "Is that strictly necessary?"
"Yes, it’s necessary," you deadpan, typing a series of nonsense characters into the search bar just to look busy. "Have you ever been to a motel before? We’re a business, not a homeless shelter."
Just then, the ancient TV decides to stage a coup. The screen erupts into a frantic dance of horizontal lines, the audio screeching with the sound of wind and high-pitched squawks. You don't even look; you just reach out and deliver another violent smack to the top of the plastic casing.
The static vanishes instantly, replaced by a high-definition close-up of a penguin right in the middle of its breeding ritual. The bird stares directly into the camera, and by extension, into your very soul, accompanied by a series of wet, rhythmic, and deeply uncomfortable trumpet-like noises, as it humps the absolute hell out of its partner.
[TV Subtitles]: The male’s vocalizations become more frequent during the act, a guttural series of honks designed to ward off rivals while he completes the union.
The wet boy lets out a sudden, sharp snort of laughter.
You lung for the power button, plunging the corner of the lobby into blessed, silent darkness. You can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks, a deep crimson that probably looks purple in the blue light.
"Educational," he muses, looking away toward the darkened hallway. He’s biting his lip, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding in a full-blown laugh. He fails, a small, breathless huff escaping him.
"ID. Credit card. Now." You snap, clicking the mouse aggressively.
He doesn't reach for a wallet. Instead, he shifts his weight, sliding both hands onto the counter and leaning forward. The scent of rain and something else—sandalwood? drifts over the desk, invading your personal space. He’s so close now that you can see the individual droplets of water trembling on his collarbone, threatening to slide beneath the hem of his soaked shirt.
"Here’s the thing..." he starts, his voice dropping an octave into a velvety, intimate purr. He glances toward the door, where the lightning illuminates the storm in a jagged white strobe. "I’m in a bit of a spot. My car gave up the ghost about a mile back, and in the chaos of the downpour—I walked out without my bag. No wallet, no plastic. I just need a place to dry off."
He leans in a fraction closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a heavy, flirtatious heat that makes your breath hitch. Your pupils flicker as you instinctively try to track the intensity in his gaze.
"The storm is getting nasty out there," he says low, his thumb tracing a slow, distracted circle on the laminate of your desk. "And you look like you have a big heart. Think we can make a deal that doesn't involve the system?"
You bite your lip, the lobby suddenly feeling deafeningly loud, as the silence stretches between you. You hesitate. Would you really be capable of vaporizing your last remaining shred of common sense over a man? You’re barely a month into this employment contract. Risking your job because a stranger has doe eyes and a chocolate-chip mole under his plush lips is the definition of a bad life choice.
You lean back a bit, finally reclaiming some oxygen, and try to find your voice. "So, let me get this straight," you say, crossing your arms. "You expect me to just... give you a room for free? Based on a 'big heart' and a car breakdown story I can't even verify?"
"Actually—" he cuts in, his hand moving to his back pocket. He scrambles for a moment before pulling out a crumpled, soggy ten-dollar bill. He flattens it onto the counter with a wet thwack.
You stare at it. "That's it? Ten dollars?"
He huffs a small, amused breath and reaches back in, pulling out a handful of loose change. He drops it onto the desk; the coins clink and scatter, one rogue quarter rolling across the laminate and landing right in your lap. You pick it up, counting the pile with a skeptical eye.
"Five dollars," you announce, looking from the meager pile of gold back to his face. "Fifteen dollars total."
He offers a smirk, one that says he knows exactly how ridiculous this is. "Is that enough?"
You look at him with a pure you-are-so-out-of-your- mind expression and let out a long, exhausted sigh. "I fear I have to cancel your request. I can’t let unregistered people in. If you’re a criminal or a runaway, it would be remarkably stupid for me to not at least take extra cash for the risk of being an accomplice. And no, your fifteen dollars doesn't cover a jail stay."
"I promise I’m not a criminal. Does this face look like it belongs on a 'Most Wanted' poster?"
"Maybe the 'Most Annoying' one," you mutter. "Give me your name."
"Jungkook," he says easily.
You turn back to the computer, opening a search tab. He raises a dark, wet brow. "What ya doing?"
"Searching to see if you showed up on the recent news," you say, your fingers flying over the keys. "Searching for a 'man with an ostensibly innocent face, zero identification,questionable excuses'—"
Before you can hit enter, his hand darts out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist to stop you from moving the mouse. The contact is warm, shocking against your skin.
"I can assure you," he says, his gaze intensifying, "I didn’t do anything illegal. Or at least... nothing particularly illegal enough to be run after."
You look down at his hand. He doesn't pull away; instead, his thumb brushes lazily past your wrist bone, a deliberate, slow caress. "Look, I don't have cash," he murmurs, his voice dropping back into that dangerous purr, "but I can make it up to you in a different way."
You scoff, rolling your eyes as you pull your wrist free from his grip. “You’re ridiculous.”
He breaks into a boyish laugh that suddenly loosens the tension in the room. "Just joking. Mostly."
You’re frustrated now, wanting him off your ass so you can get back to your quiet zone and your cold pizza. "Whatever. One night. That's it. You stay in the room, you don't make a sound, and you leave at sunrise."
Jungkook’s eyes flash with a challenging look. "Three nights."
"One."
"Three. It’s going to be raining through Tuesday," he says, leaning in until his nose is inches from yours. "And I think you secretly like the company."
You stare him dead in the eyes, trying to maintain your resolve, but the fatigue and those damn eyes are winning. You reach into the drawer, your fingers hesitating for a second before you grab the heavy brass key to Room 012. (the one with the noisy pipes)
He reaches for it, his hand quick and expectant, but you jerk the keys back toward your chest, keeping them just out of his grasp. He stops, his hand suspended in the air, and looks at you questionably with a tilted head.
"Don't make me regret this," you warn him, your voice dropping into a stern, no-nonsense register. "You stay in your room, expecially during the day. You don't wander. If my manager rolls in for a surprise audit and sees a six-foot-tall puddle-maker wandering the halls, we’re both out on the street. Understood?"
You don’t wait for an answer. You look past him toward the floor near the vending machine, your voice becoming mechanical as you rattle off the "Blue Hour" survival guide.
"The AC in 012 is basically a decorative box, so don't bother. Towels and a robe are in the bathroom closet. Be careful with the door handle, it sticks, so you have to jiggle it to the left," you instruct, gesturing vaguely toward the corridor. Then, you point toward the end of the lobby. "On the first floor, past the big fish tank, is the laundry room. There’s a single washer and a dryer. Once you’re done drying off and you don't look like you just crawled out of a swamp, I expect you back here. There are a few things to do; Floors to mop, a mountain of towels to fold. Consider it your surcharge on that fifteen-dollar loan."
A slow, appreciative grin spreads across his face, the kind that suggests he finds the idea of manual labor at a budget motel strangely entertaining. He doesn't complain about the broken AC or the jiggling handle. Instead, he lunges forward slightly and swipes the key from your fingers with a lightning-fast flick of his wrist.
"Bet," he says, the brass key glinting under the blue neon as he tucks it into his palm with a cocky wink. "You're a lifesaver, Pretty. I owe you one."
You watch his broad, soaked shoulders disappear into the blue-tinted shadows of the hallway, the key glinting in his hand. You sink back into your squeaky chair, then stare down at the pathetic, soggy fifteen dollars and the can of flat Diet Coke still sitting on your desk.
"I’m definitely getting fired," you mutter to the blank TV, before picking up your cold pizza and taking a bite.
NEXT PART
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N O T E : facts were lightly harmed in the making of this fic. Apologies to the penguins. (They did not consent to the unnecessary characterization.)
I really wish you didn’t use italics for dialogue in your fics, I really want to read the bunny hybrid story but the italics is throwing me off 😭 usually it’s used to represent past tense or in the readers head.
Oh well... sorry. I just thought it looked prettier that way lol my bad 😅 But is it really that serious? I always use "" with italics for the spoken dialogue and keep it without quotes when it's inside the reader's head to separate them.
But I guess I will have to stop doing that for my future fics from now on if it's confusing ( but I'm way too far into ftdbi to go back and change all of it now, so yeah... forgive me)
SYNOPSIS : You’ve been working night shifts at the Blue Hour Motel for over a month now. The job is easy; paperwork, keys, silence on repeat.
You’ve gotten used to the boredom, because nothing ever really happens here… until a boy walks in soaked from the rain, trying to slip past the front desk like he doesn’t belong in the system at all. no check-in, no ID, just a crumpled 15 dollars and a smug “this enough?” ( it’s not.) But something about his pretty face and doe eyes makes you give in anyway.
Three nights + One simple rule: stay in your room. ...Unfortunately for you, he doesn’t seem very good at following rules.
warnings: workplace stress, suggestive themes, alcohol mention, cursing, rule breaking, jk being annoyingly attractive.(that's all i have for now)
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A/N: it's just gonna be a short little rom-com. nothing serious. I have half of it rotting in my notes and figured i might as well finish it. if anyone's interested (unlikely), i'll drop the prologue soon. i can also make a taglist if anyone wants to be on it ♡
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.
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.
Your voice is barely a whisper, quickly swallowed by the night air.
You glance over at Jungkook, your eyes tracing the awkward angle of his spine, as he carries the unconscious hybrid on his back, his torso bent severely forward to keep the limp body from sliding off. His hands are hooked securely under the boy's knees, his knuckles white from the strain, while Tae's arms swing loosely at the sides of his shoulders. With every heavy, limping step Jungkook takes, Tae’s head lolls weakly against the side of his neck, swinging limply with the motion.
It looks entirely agonizing for both of them. Watching the unnatural sway of Tae's head makes a knot of dread tighten in your stomach. You just desperately hope the hybrid will survive long enough for you to figure out what to do.
"It's okay," Jungkook mutters. His voice is rough, and entirely focused.
He keeps his eyes glued to the cracked pavement beneath his bare feet, carefully calculating every single step to ensure he doesn't trip on the uneven concrete.
"Are you sure? I can at least hold his arms, or... try to ease the weight off your shoulders a bit—"
"No."
Jungkook cuts you off instantly. He stops for a fraction of a second, his ears twitching forward as he snaps his head up to glare at you through his damp, dark bangs. The dark blood from his bitten cheek long dried into a grim line.
"You're hurt," he states flatly.
You let out a dry, incredulous breath. "So are you. I'm not the one who just fought in an underground arena and got injected with a dangerous drug."
Jungkook doesn't argue. He just fires a dark look at you; a stubborn stare that warns you he isn't going to back down on this. You swallow the rest of your words, shutting your mouth as you realize it's useless to fight him when he gets like this.
It’s infuriating, really. He is covered in a horrifying array of fresh wounds; The raw puncture mark on his neck is still swollen, bruises bloom across his ribs, scrapes line his shoulders, and his knuckles are bleeding from slamming his fist into the asphalt. yet the only thing he is truly focused on is you.
Every time you stumble in those ridiculous heels, his long black ears twitch violently, his eyes immediately dropping to track the red scrapes on your exposed knees and the dark grit embedded in your cut fist from the shattered glass of the emergency fire button.
The relentless wind sweeps through the narrow corridor of buildings from time to time, entirely uncaring of the fact that all three of you are half-naked. You shiver violently in the tiny silver dress, but the cold is even more brutal for the two hybrids. Bare-chested and wearing nothing but their torn fight shorts, their translucent skin is already covered in severe goosebumps.
Gradually, the layout of the city begins to change. You are finally entering a more familiar, open part of the town, though you still cling desperately to the deepest shadows, weaving behind closed storefronts and dark alleys to avoid stray pedestrians.
You take a shuddering breath, trying to offer a tiny shred of comfort. "At least we are almost there."
Jungkook adjusts Tae’s weight with a strained grunt, his breath leaving him in a quiet huff. He looks over at you as he forces his exhausted muscles to keep moving. "Where are we going?"
"To the hospital."
The words have barely left your lips before Jungkook freezes completely in his tracks.The sudden halt causes Tae’s limp head to jostle against his shoulder, but Jungkook doesn't seem to notice.
You stop a few paces ahead, the clumsy clack of your clear heels suddenly halting, and you wheel around to look back at him.
He is staring at you with wide eyes, completely paralyzed by a wave of pure panic. He looks so terribly small beneath the limp weight of the dog hybrid on his back. His frame tensing as his long black ears pin flat against his skull, casting a deep shadow over his pale face.
You knew he would react like that. To hybrids, a hospital isn't a place of healing. It’s a terrifying extension of the system that owns them; a place where they don't care about your injuries, they just patch you up enough to look presentable for customers before throwing you straight back into a cage.
"No," Jungkook rasps, as his knuckles turn white under Tae’s thighs. "No hospital."
"Kook" you say softly, taking a cautious step toward him. "Listen to me—"
"No," he snaps again, harsher this time. He immediately takes a defensive step back, pulling away from you.
The limp body of his childhood friend shifts precariously on his back, but Jungkook’s fixated, panicked gaze never leaves your eyes, practically begging you to change your mind. "They have scanners. They'll know I'm unregistered. They'll call the facility... They'll take me away from you."
"They won't," you assure him. "No one is going to see you, I promise. I used to volunteere at the hospital. I know the layout. I know which back corridors don't have security cameras, and I know where the midnight supply closets are. We aren't checking into the front desk."
Jungkook doesn't answer. He just stands there in the freezing wind, his expression making it painfully clear he isn't convinced.
"Look at him, Kook." you press, nodding your head toward Tae. "We can't patch him up on the street. He's losing too much blood from his head. He needs a real antiseptic, he needs stitches, and he needs fluids. The hospital is the only place close enough that has what he needs to stay alive. If we don't go right now, he isn't going to make it."
Jungkook looks down at the pavement, his jaw clenching as he bites his lip. He is warring with his instincts, the trauma of his past screaming at him to run into the dark.
"I don't like it," he mumbles. He looks down at your feet, his long ears drooping forward to shadow his face in total defeat. "It's dangerous."
"I know it is," you admit. "But I will protect you. Both of you. Don't you trust me?"
Jungkook stares at you through his thick lashes. Of course he trust you. He trusts you with his entire soul. But he isn't naive anymore. He knows how the world treats things like him. He looks at your bruised, trembling form in that ruined, ridiculous dress, and a profound ache settles in his chest;
He knows that no matter how hard you try, no matter how fiercely you want to guard him, you are still just human. You aren't invincible. You can want to be strong enough to fight the whole world for him, but things don't always go your way. Just like the police raid at the apartment, or the terrifying moment he was dragged into the underworld arena. Sometimes, the cruel system is just too big, and everything goes wrong despite your best efforts.
Yet, as he watches you stand there shivering, desperately trying to be their anchor, he suppresses the terrifying urge to argue. He sees the fierce, protective determination in your eyes, and he doesn't want to make you feel like you aren't enough.
So, he swallows his terror. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing painfully against the raw, bruised puncture wound left by the needle on his neck. He stays quiet for a second, the silence between you stretched to its absolute limit. A sharp, freezing gust of wind sweeps down the narrow street, blowing his dark, messy fringe across his forehead, exposing the deep vulnerability in his wide eyes.
Finally, the rigid resistance drains from his slumped shoulders, and he gives you a tiny nod of his head.
"Okay," he whispers.
"Okay," you say back, breathing out a sigh of relief.
Turning back toward the direction you were heading, you cast a cautious glance over your shoulder. "Let's go, then?"
Jungkook takes a moment, before he finally forces his feet to move forward, falling into step right behind you. For the rest of the walk, he stays exactly two paces behind you, keeping his head low.
You hate this. You hate that absolutely everything has to feel like a high-stakes gamble lately, that simply surviving from one hour to the next requires risking your life or your freedom. But this isn't just about a broken lease or an illegal hybrid anymore. This is a matter of a boy's life. Beyond Tae, every single one of you desperately needs patching up; you can feel the sticky trail of blood drying down your knees, and Jungkook’s chest is practically vibrating with the physical aftermath of the arena's chemical cocktail.
You wouldn't be pushing him toward his worst nightmare if you didn't thoroughly know your way around this place. You had spent months navigating these specific hallways, learning the blind spots of the staff and the rhythms of the building. If anyone could slip through the cracks of a cold medical facility, it was you.
But as anyone with an ounce of reality knows, life is a mess, and yours is definitely not a movie.
When the massive, glowing concrete structure of the hospital finally comes into view through the fog, you expect it to be a haven of quiet, sterile peace.
It is the middle of the night. From your time volunteering here, you knew the night shifts were traditionally dead. At most, you expected to see an ambulance rolling in with an elderly patient who suffered a cardiac episode in their sleep, or maybe a drunk, violent husband brought in by the cops who thought the late hours were the perfect time to beat up his wife.
What you didn’t account for was the butterfly effect. You hadn't realized that pulling the fire alarm at the NVN Club would completely shatter the peace of this hospital shift, turning the emergency ward into a chaotic zoo.
Reaching the perimeter of the facility, you quickly slide behind the large, low-slung brick sign embedded in the grass that displays the hospital’s name in glowing acrylic letters.
"Duck down," you hiss, pressing your back against the cold brick.
Your eyes peek just above the top edge of the sign to scout the area. Jungkook tries to steal a glance too, but you immediately reach back and push his head down. He lets out a low, frustrated huff against your palm, but he complies, crouching low into the grass while trying to balance the dead weight of Tae on his shoulders.
From your vantage point behind the sign, you watch a frantic stream of people pour in and out through the sliding glass doors. They're all drenched by the artificial rain. Some limping or clutching blood-soaked napkins to their faces after being trampled in the crush at the narrow exit. Others sit on the concrete curbs, hyperventilating as severe panic attacks take hold.
Good for you, idiots, you think bitterly. Let them panic over their little cuts, bruises, and battered egos. Now they're crying over a crowd crush after willingly watching hybrids tear each other apart for their own sick amusement.
You pull your gaze away from the lights of the ER entrance and look down at Jungkook. He is staring at the concrete, his long black ears twitching anxiously at the distant sound of crying and shouting, his pulse visibly thumping against his neck.
"It's okay," you whisper. "We're going through the back door anyway.
You take one last, lingering look at the chaotic main entrance before pulling back. Turning to Jungkook, you pat his bare, shivering shoulder twice to get his attention.
"Follow me."
Dropping low, you lead the way out from behind the brick sign, staying flush against the shadows of the building’s concrete facade. You weave past the heavy industrial trash compactors and rows of rolling bins lined up near the loading dock. This was your territory during your volunteer months; the staff always dumped the most grueling, repetitive tasks on the volunteers, meaning you had spent countless late nights hauling heavy bags of medical waste down to these exact dumpsters.
Tucked into a recessed alcove behind a massive metal recycling bin is a heavy, gray steel door labeled Facilities & Laundry Management. You grip the cold handle, give it a firm, practiced upward jolt, and pull. With a low click, the door gives way.
You slip inside first, holding the heavy door open with your back to make room for Jungkook.
The heavy door thuds shut behind you, instantly cutting off the distant, frantic wails of the emergency sirens. The air in the basement corridor is thick with the industrial, sterile scent of bleach and hot steam from the laundry vents. The lighting down here is sparse; just long, flickering tubes casting a pale hue over the exposed overhead pipes and concrete walls.
"Stay close," you murmur under your breath, your voice echoing slightly in the quiet subterranean hallway.
Jungkook follows tightly on your heels, his feet making almost no sound against the floor. You turn left at the first junction, navigating the labyrinthine basement layout by memory. Then you pass the heavy double doors of the main laundry room before leading Jungkook up three flights of concrete stairs. You let him go first, keeping your eyes trained behind him as you secure the rear.
At the top of the stairs, you slip into another hallway; one that is completely unlit. At the very end of the corridor sits a pair of big white double doors. Blockades of old, unused hospital beds on wheels are lined up against the wall before the entrance, gathering dust.
"Put him down there," you whisper, gesturing to one of the empty gurneys.
Together, you carefully lift the hybrid off Jungkook’s aching shoulders, putting him down on the thin mattress. The moment your fingers press firmly against the side of Tae's neck to check his condition, you feel Jungkook tense beside you.
He glares at your hand, something territorial flashing across his exhausted face as he shoots you a sharp look. Your fingers linger against Taehyung's neck a second too long for the bunny's liking. A low, warning growl rumbles deep in his chest, loud enough to make you snatch your hand away. At least Tae's pulse is still there—weak and fluttering erratically beneath your fingertips, but unmistakably alive.
Ignoring the subtle tension, you step toward the white double doors. There are small, rectangular glass windows set into the wood just a bit above your head. You have to stand on your tiptoes to peer through the glass into the hospital ward hallway beyond.
"It seems pretty clear," you say softly, turning back to Jungkook. "Stay here with him. I'm going to go explore the area, and make sure it's safe."
"Don't go." Jungkook cuts in immediately, his hand shooting out to catch the edge of your wrist. He pulls you back half an inch, his doe eyes dark and heavy.
"Kook, you'll be safe here for a few minutes," you say, trying to soothe him. "No one comes down this wing."
He pulls his arm back slightly, his lower lip shifting into a faint, stubborn pout. "That’s not it."
"Then what?"
"Don't go out like that,"
You blink, confused "Like what?"
In answer, he gestures with his chin down at your body. His dark eyes trace the line of the tiny silver dress and the ridiculous heels that make your form look incredibly revealing. You look entirely out of place, a walking target for the wrong kind of attention.
A small realization hits you. "Oh." You look down at your outfit, then back at his tense face. "Kook... there's probably no one there anyway."
Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his ears pinning back in a classic bratty display of disapproval. He steps closer, crowding your space. "But what if there will be a man?"
You let out a quiet, breathless huff. "There won't be."
He stares at you for a long, heavy moment, his gaze fiercely intense. Finally, his fingers loosen around your wrist, slipping away as he leans back with an unhappy grunt.
"Be quick," he mumbles, lowering his head as he reluctantly lets you go, though his eyes remain fixed on the door.
You give him a quick nod before awkwardly slipping through the white double doors. As it clicks shut behind you, you find yourself silently praying that no one will actually be out here—and especially, for the sake of your sanity and Jungkook's possessive streak, not a man.
The hospital ward corridor stretches out before you. It’s an older section of the building, housing two dark surgery rooms that are clearly out of commission for the night.The walls are lined with rows of connected plastic waiting chairs, flanked by faded educational posters about heart health and hygiene. Just an ordinary hospital.
Moving as fast as your ridiculous heels will allow, you press your face against the small glass panes of each door you pass, peering into the dark, silent rooms to ensure they're empty.
Distracted by checking a dark room to your left, your heel suddenly catches on a freshly waxed patch of linoleum.Your feet fly out from under you. You dangerously skew sideways, almost dropping into a full, agonizing split right there in the middle of the hallway.
Shit.
With a frantic, ungraceful lurch, you slam your palm against the cold drywall, barely recovering your balance before eating the floor. You quickly look left and right, wild-eyed, ensuring absolutely no one witnessed the near-catastrophe. Satisfied you're alone, you hastily tug the hem of the tiny silver dress back down over your thighs.
Breathing heavily, you straighten up and keep moving. A few meters down, your eyes spot a door that isn't fully closed.
Holding your breath, you sneak toward it. You press your hands against the heavy wood, quietly pushing it open just a few inches further. You slip your head through the gap, your eyes widening in relief as you look into a completely empty, unlit supply storage room.
"Y/n?"
The sudden voice slices through the quiet hallway.
You jump out of your skin, doing a frantic pirouette on your heels to whirl around, your heart leaping straight into your throat.
Standing right in the doorway of the staff restroom across the hall is Jimin.
Oh, this is bad, you think, your pulse skyrocketing. This is so, so bad.
Jimin freezes, his hand still resting on the restroom door handle. His gaze instantly drops to your outfit. For a long minute, his brows furrow in deep confusion as his eyes track the glittering, micro-mini silver dress, the high heels, then the stark red scrapes lining your exposed knees, and your thoroughly cut, grit-stained knuckles.
"Jimin?" you gasp, trying to keep your voice down. "What are you doing here?"
He blinks, pulling his eyes back up to your face, his expression a mix of exhaustion and total bewilderment.
"One of the VIP bar customers," he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a heavy sigh. "Guy got completely wasted, fainted dead away, and face-planted right onto another table. Massive scene. They made me ride in the ambulance with him. Markus had to cover my shift at the club, and he is angry as hell about it."
"Oh...Wow," you stammer,
"Tell me about it," Jimin huffs, adjusting his collar. "I'm supposed to be waiting by registration, but I had to pee so bad I ran up here. Downstairs was totally packed. Almost pissed myself."
Jimin steps fully out of the restroom, his expression quickly shifting to deep concern as his eyes scan your disheveled appearance again. "But what about you?" He steps close. "Did your mom get worse? Is that why you're here?"
You blink, completely thrown off balance. "My mom?"
"Yeah. Markus said you mentioned something about her. That's why you've been absent from work lately, right?"
You stare at him for a beat before the memory suddenly clicks.
Right.
Back at the prison, when panic had completely taken over, you'd blurted out the first excuse that came to mind, telling Markus there'd been a family emergency. Something about your mom being sick. You'd almost forgotten the lie yourself.
"Oh! Right!" you stammer, your hands flying up in a panicked wave. "Yes! I mean, no—everything is okay with her! Well, I mean... she is sick, but umm..."
Your words freeze instantly in your throat.
Over Jimin’s shoulder, right at the very end of the corridor, your eyes lock onto the rectangular window of the white double doors where a pair of long black ears and doe eyes are visible. Pressed right against the glass is Jungkook’s face. Even through the glass, you can see the absolute distress twisting his pale features when he sees you with a man. Not only a man—Jimin, whom he already had been wary of.
Panic seizing your chest, you desperately try to gesture to him to hide. You cut your eyes toward the wall, giving a subtle, frantic nod of your head to tell him to pull back, but the movements are far from discreet.
Jimin immediately notices your wild gesturing, and turns his head around to look in the exact direction you're staring. Through the glass, Jungkook doesn't even attempt to duck away. He just stands there, staring grimly at the two of you.
"Yo." Jimin poits a blunt finger toward the door. "The bunny here too?"
You scratch the back of your hair, letting out a strained, incredibly awkward laugh. "He... yeah. He is."
Before Jimin can even open his mouth to demand an explanation, the heavy echo of footsteps and muffled voices suddenly resounds from the nearby service stairs.
Someone is coming up.
Your instincts kick into overdrive. You plunge forward, jogging the short distance to Jimin and violently shoving your hands against his chest.
"Move!" you hiss.
"What the—" Jimin stumbles backward into the small restroom, completely bewildered as you push him right through the door, slipping inside behind him and pulling the door shut until it's just a crack, hiding yourself while he stares at you in total confusion.
You hold your breath, pressing your ear flat against the door. The sound of shoes echoes in the hallway outside, clicking closer and closer until your heart is practically beating in your throat. But thankfully, the footsteps don't pause at the restroom. Instead, they continue past the door and head straight up the next flight of stairs, fading out entirely.
"What is going on?" Jimin finally demands, his voice a harsh whisper as he crosses his arms, looking at you like you’ve officially lost your mind.
You let out a long, shaky sigh, dropping your forehead against the door for a brief moment before turning to face him. "You are my favorite co-worker, you know that right?"
"Highly suspicious phrasing. But duh, I know. Now spill."
"You wanna help me?" you ask, your eyes pleading.
He softens just a fraction, his protective streak winning out over his confusion. "I'm all ears. What did you get yourself into?"
You don't waste a second. As quickly and quietly as possible, you spill out what happened tonight; the underground NVN fight, the brutal arena escape, and the fact that Tae is currently bleeding out on a gurney just down the hall.
Jimin listens in absolute, jaw-dropped silence, his eyes growing wider and wider with every sentence that leaves your mouth. By the time you finish, he just stares at you, completely stunned.
"Damn," he finally breathes out, rubbing a hand over his face. "And I thought me almost pissing myself over here was bad."
"We need to get them to the surgery Prep Room before someone else walks down that hall," you urge, pulling the restroom door open.
Jimin gives you a firm nod, finally overriding his shock. You carefully push the restroom door open, stepping back out into the corridor to fetch Jungkook and Tae.
When your eyes instantly dart to the end of the hallway, your heart drops into your stomach.
Jungkook's face is no longer in the glass window.
You move fast, your heels clicking as you sprint down the corridor toward the white double doors. You push through them, your pulse hammering ribs until a wave of sheer relief washes over you.
Jungkook hasn't run away. He’s right there, sitting miserably on the steps directly next to the hospital bed where Tae is lying. The moment he hears the doors swing open, he looks up, his doe eyes instantly narrowing when he sees Jimin stepping through right behind you. A heavy, sullen pout deforms his lower lip, and his entire posture screams that he is thoroughly unhappy about the situation, his inner brat dangerously close to the surface.
You match his glare, giving him a firm 'this is not the time to sulk' stare. You gesture toward your co-worker. "Jimin is going to help us, Kook. We have to move."
Jimin raises a hand, offering a tiny, slightly awkward wave. "Hey, man."
Jungkook lets out a quiet, unhappy rumble deep in his throat, but he slowly stands up, his submissive nature toward you overriding his jealousy as he steps closer to the gurney.
"Alright, look," Jimin whispers, taking charge as he peers back through the window. "You two push the bed. I’ll walk ahead and keep watch. When I give you the sign, you move. Fast."
"Got it," you mutter.
You and Jungkook both grip the cold metal rails of the heavy hospital bed. Jimin slips through the double doors first, moving like a shadow. A few tense seconds pass before his face reappears in the glass, frantically gesturing with his arm for you to come out.
"Go, go," you hiss to Jungkook.
You both push the bed into the hall, picking up speed to cross the distance to the open Prep Room. But just as you try to swing the bed around the corner, one of the front wheels violently locks up, spinning sideways. The heavy gurney veers sharply off course, crashing straight into a row of plastic waiting chairs with a loud, hollow ClaNG.
"Oh God." you gasp, your heart leaping into your throat. Frustrated and panicked, you lift your high heel and viciously kick the stuck wheel until it snaps back into place.
Up ahead, Jimin whips around at the noise. He stares at your chaotic Tokyo drift maneuver, bringing both hands up to clutch his head in absolute disbelief as he throws you a massive, judgmental side-eye.
You furiously pull the bed back on track, glaring back at him as you aggressively whisper. "It’s not my fault!”
Jungkook doesn't say a word, but his grip on the metal railing tightens, his ears twitching anxiously at the noise as the three of you sprint the last few meters toward the designated door.
Suddenly Jimin halts in the center of the hall, lifting a hand to freeze the operation. He tilts his head, listening intently for the echo of any approaching footsteps from the main stairwell. A tense second passes before he snaps out of it, and with a frantic wave of his arm, he hastes you forward, grabbing the foot of the gurney to help push.
Together, the three of you put your weight into it, sprinting the last few meters. You swing the gurney through the entrance of the Surgery Prep Room like a damn limousine navigating a tight alleyway, the frame clearing the door with inches to spare.
"Lock it, lock it," you breathe out, your chest heaving.
Jimin slams the heavy door shut and twists the thumb-turn, while you guide the squeaking gurney right next to a secondary, empty patient bed draped in white sheets.
The room is dead quiet, smelling sharply of the usual hospital odor. Jimin immediately reaches out to flip the main wall switch, looding the space with a blinding light.
"No, turn it off!" you hiss. "We have to be cautious so no one notices we're in here. No big lights. Turn it off and switch that small desk lamp on instead."
Jimin quickly slaps the main switch back down, plunging you into darkness again before shuffling over to a small metal workstation in the corner and clicking on a low-wattage, adjustable goose-neck lamp, that provides just enough visibility without bleeding through the door's window.
Your eyes instantly scan the area. Rows of stainless steel counters are covered in a thin layer of dust, flanked by empty IV poles, discarded plastic basins, and basic first-aid kits mounted to the walls.
While you click the wheel-locks of the bed into place, you glance up at Jungkook. He is standing there awkwardly, looking entirely out of place, his hands still resting stiffly on the metal railing of the gurney as if he doesn't know what to do with himself now that the running is over.
Wanting to pull him out of his shell and keep him grounded, you try to encourage him to help. "Hey, come here. Help me prep the line."
You move quickly, tearing open a fresh package of IV tubing and a bag of normal saline. "Hold this bag up for me while I spike it," you instruct gently, guiding his hands to the plastic loop.
You easily could have handled the setup alone, but you just want an excuse to interact with Jungkook, to keep him tethered to the moment instead of spiraling into his own head.
Jungkook complies without a word, his movements precise but stiff. Once you've connected the IV tubing to the saline bag, you reach back into the unlocked supply cabinet and grab an IV starter kit and a catheter. Then you gently guide his hands, showing him how to support Tae's arm to give you the best access while you search for a vein.
The atmosphere between the two of you is awkward. When you try talking to Jungkook—asking him to hold the tape or hand you another swab—he barely responds. He only shrugs or mutters short, clipped one-word answers, avoiding your gaze, still clearly bottling up his sullen attitude from earlier.
Over by the entryway, Jimin stands with his face practically pressed against the small glass window in the door, keeping watch on the empty hallway.
"Man," Jimin whispers loudly over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose. "It smells like absolute ass in here."
You slide the catheter into the vein, secure the cannula with tape, then connect the IV tubing. With a quick adjustment of the roller clamp, the saline begins flowing, dripping steadily through the line.
"Yeah, well, it's all alcohol and antiseptic smell. Get used to it." You mumble, turning your attention to the nasty gash on Tae's temple, you crack open a bottle of antiseptic and a packet of sterile gauze, carefully cleaning the wound before attempting to stitch it up.
Jungkook steps in closer, his hands automatically pressing a fresh pad of gauze to the side of Tae's head to absorb the excess fluid as you work.
Looking up at his tense, shadowed face, you try again. "Are you feeling good?"
"Fine," he mumbles, his voice entirely flat.
"Any side symptoms from the stimulant?"
He merely shrugs his broad shoulders, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the bloody gauze, refusing to meet your gaze.
A tense silence passes over the room as you work. You are just finishing up clearing the worst of the grit from Tae's wounds when a sudden, whimper cuts through the quiet. Taehyung’s eyelids violently start fluttering.
You gasp softly, dropping the gauze into the tray. "He's waking up."
"He is?!" Jimin whips around from his post. Completely forgetting about his lookout duty, he hurries to the side of the bed, leaving behind a greasy forehead print on the door's glass window.
Tae's eyes snap open, pupils rolling back before finally focusing. But the moment consciousness hits him, panic does too. He is visibly dizzy, his breathing instantly turning shallow and frantic. The room is spinning, his head is pounding like a bass drum, and he is utterly terrified and confused. As his vision clears, he sees three distinct faces peering down at him in the dim light.
With a breathless, animalistic whine, Taehyung violently flinches backward on the bed. He scrambles away from you, his arm flailing so hard he nearly rips the fresh IV line right out of his vein.
"No, no, no! Wait, stay!" you lunge forward to gently pin his shoulders to prevent him from dislodging the needle. "Don't move, you're going to pull the tube out! You're safe, I promise. You're safe."
Tae breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his wild, dilated eyes dart around the small perimeter, finally locking back onto the three faces staring back at him. He blinks through the haze, his gaze shifting from your panicked face, to Jimin's bewildered expression, and finally settling right on Jungkook.
The moment their eyes meet, the frantic thrashing stops completely, but neither of them says a word.
You look back and forth between them, the atmosphere thick with an uncomfortable, suffocating weight. Jungkook stands completely frozen, looking uncharacteristically abashed, a flicker of raw guilt crossing his features as he stares down at the battered hybrid. Taehyung slowly relaxes his rigid posture against the mattress, his heavy breathing shallow, but the tension between them is palpable. After the brutal, heartbreaking reality of being forced to tear each other apart in that cage for human amusement, facing each other in the quiet aftermath is clearly overwhelming.
Jimin clears his throat and cracks an awkward, nervous smile. "Lovely. Welcome back to the world of the living, buddy. Group hugs later."
You shoot Jimin a thoroughly resigned look, silently begging him with your eyes to stop talking.
Turning back to the gurney, you soften your voice, leaning closer to the dazed hybrid. "Tae, I'm Y/n," you say gently, offering a small, reassuring smile. "You're in a safe part of the hospital. You took a really bad hit to the head during the escape and you and you've lost a lot of blood, but we've got an IV in you and we're going to help patch you up, okay? Just try to breathe."
Taehyung’s dilated eyes gaze back at you, still glazed with pain and disorientation. He is sitting upright on the edge of the mattress now, his entire frame shivering violently from the shock and the sudden drop in blood pressure.
"I'm going to disinfect your wounds now, okay?" you murmur, preparing a fresh bottle of antiseptic.
Behind you, Jimin lets out a heavy sigh and slumps into one of the plastic waiting chairs he'd dragged near the door. "God, I am absolutely exhausted," he grumbles, closing his eyes and resting his head against the chair's backrest. "Wake me up if the guards come."
Ignoring his dramatic complaining, you look around the metal tray for more supplies, but you realize you've run through the last of the sterile packs.
"We need more gauze," you mutter.
You turn to the adjacent, empty patient bed and yank the thin, white cotton blanket off it, gently draping it over Tae's trembling shoulders to keep him warm.
"Kook, can you check in those drawers behind you? See if there are any extra gauze packages left."
While Jungkook moves to rifle through the drawers, you step directly in front of Taehyung to perform a basic neurological assessment.
"Tae, can you tell me what day it is? Do you know where you are?"
He opens his mouth, but only a faint, raspy hum comes out.
"It's okay. Don't force it. Just follow my finger with your eyes," you instruct, holding up your index finger and moving it slowly from left to right.
His gaze tracks it sluggishly, his pupils unevenly reacting to the light. As you lean closer to examine his head, your eyes drop to hishybrid ears. One of them remains upright, but the other is hanging completely limp and floppy.
"Let me see this," you whisper, your fingers gently reaching up to assess the injury. The moment your skin brushes the base of his ear, Taehyung winces violently, a low, pained whine catching in his throat. "It's probably broken," you note softly, your heart aching for him. "The cartilage is badly bruised and—"
"There's no gauze," Jungkook’s voice cuts in.
You blink, turning your head slightly. "Are you sure? Did you check the bottom drawers good?"
Jungkook doesn't answer, his entire body freezing the moment he notices your hand resting against the uninjured side of the older hybrid's neck, steadying him. But the second he realizes you’ve caught him staring, he quickly snaps his head back toward the drawer, aggressively slamming it shut before yanking another open, hiding his face behind the frantic search.
You let out a silent, internal sigh. You had almost forgotten how intensely difficult and territorial he could be when he was feeling vulnerable and defensive.
"Only this," Jungkook then mutters, turning around and stiffly thrusting a small, clean white hand towel toward you.
"Okay, that will have to do. Thank you." you say, taking it.
You pour a generous amount of clear antiseptic solution onto the cloth. "Tae, can you shift slightly for me? Turn your back toward the lamp."
Taehyung complies slowly, the blanket slipping down his shoulders. As the dim light hits his back, where the skin is mapped with angry, purplish-red welts and jagged lacerations; heavily bruised marks from the heavy chains and whips the guards had used to brutally rush him into the fighting cage. You gently begin to dab the antiseptic towel against the angry lines, wincing yourself when Taehyung’s muscles bunch in pain.
You are entirely focused on cleaning the deep scratches when Jungkook’s rough voice breaks the silence from right behind your shoulder.
"Y/n."
Hm?" you murmur, not breaking your rhythm as you dab the cloth against the raw skin of Tae’s back.
"I have wounds too," he states bluntly.
You stop and look at him, the damp cloth hovering just an inch above Taehyung's shoulder. A sharp pang of guilt hits as you take in the rigid, defensive set of his shoulders. You had completely prioritized Tae because he was the one who had been unconscious and bleeding out on the gurney earlier, but seeing the quiet, desperate longing in Jungkook’s wide doe eyes makes you feel genuinely awful. The last thing you ever wanted was for him to feel neglected or pushed aside.
"I know you do, Kook," you say softly, keeping your voice level. "I'm about to treat yours right after Tae’s. I’m almost finished here, okay?"
"They hurt bad," he insists. "Can't wait."
Beside you, Taehyung’s eyes flicker from your face over to the bunny. A immediate wave of guilt washes over Tae’s exhausted features. His gaze drops to the mattress as if he’s suddenly ashamed for taking up your time and care.
You know Jungkook isn't feeling good. Between the underground arena fight, the frantic sprint through the hospital tunnels, and the brutal physical strain, his body has to be aching. But as you look up and scan his frame, he doesn't exactly look like he's about to collapse from excruciating pain.
You look at him suspiciously, your eyes narrowing just a fraction as you decide to test his little act.
"Really?" you press, leaning back from Tae slightly. "It hurts that bad?
"Yes."
"How bad is it exactly? Scale of one to ten."
"Ten," he answers instantly, without a single shred of hesitation.
"A ten?" You raise an eyebrow, stepping toward him. "So it's so bad that you can't even stand still right now?"
Jungkook catches the trap immediately. He goes slightly taken aback, his long black ears twitching as he realizes he's currently standing perfectly upright, his posture rigid and stable. He shifts his weight quickly, trying to salvage his argument, his lower lip jutting out in a bratty pout.
"I can't," he mumbles, his voice dropping into a low, grumpy rumble as he fixes his fierce, possessive gaze right on you. "I will faint... If you won't help."
You let out a defeated sigh, holding back the urge to roll your eyes at his dramatically transparent jealousy display. He just wants your hands off Tae and on him, plain and simple.
"Jimin?" you call out. "Could you take the towel and finish treating Tae? I'm going to check the adjacent rooms for some more sterile gauze."
Jimin groans, pushing himself up from the plastic chair with an exhausted sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Hand it over. Nurse Park is on duty."
You hand the towel over to Jimin, who slides into your spot by the gurney to help a quiet, bewildered Tae.
Turning back toward the door, you smooth down the hem of your short outfit and cast a glance at the brooding hybrid.
"Come on, Jungkook," you say quietly. "Just don't faint on the way."
You don't have to tell him twice. The moment the words leave your mouth, Jungkook straightens up, the dramatic threat of passing out magically vanishing from his posture.
You turn the manual deadbolt, clicking the lock open. Before slipping through the gap, you lean back toward Jimin. "If anything happens," you whisper sharply, keeping your voice low enough not to carry into the corridor. "Scream."
Jimin lets out snort. "Don't worry, Y/N. I'm a coward. I absolutely will. Go."
You unlock the door. You crack the door open just an inch, peering out into the corridor. The long hallway is completely deserted, bathed only in the pale glow of the lights. Satisfied that the coast is clear, you slip out from the Prep room.The moment you are out, you grab Jungkook’s forearm, guiding him through the hall.
"Let’s check the next few doors," you murmur.
The first room you try is locked, the handle refusing to budge. You move down a few paces, pushing against a heavy gray door that surprisingly gives way with a soft creak. It’s a dedicated supply closet; cramped and lined with metal shelves stretching all the way to the ceiling. The small space is only lit by the ambient glow filtering in from the lights outside and the pale moonlight streaming through the narrow window.
Stepping inside, you instantly get to work, your eyes scanning the dark shelves until you spot exactly what you were looking for. "Jackpot," you whisper, reaching for a sealed plastic tub filled with sterile gauze pads, medical tape, and thick bandages.
Behind you, Jungkook stands awkwardly in the narrow space between the wire shelves. His shoulders are hunched, his hands shoved into the pockets of the fight shorts he's wearing.
"Sit," You gesture with your chin toward the low concrete windowsill that cuts through the back wall of the room.
He doesn't argue. With a quiet shuffle of his shoes, he moves over and drops his weight onto the sill, his legs bent at the knees as he watches you with a tired gaze. Silence falls over the room, broken only by the rustle of plastic as you gather the supplies. Every time you turn around, his dark doe eyes are fixed right on you, tracking the movement of your hands, the curve of your waist in the tight silver dress, the anxious tension in your jaw.
You gather a handful of antiseptic wipes, and walk over to set them down on the concrete next to his thigh. You stand right between his parted knees, looking down at his messy hair and the stubborn set of his mouth.
"Are you ready to talk?" you ask quietly, breaking the silence.
"About what?"
"About whatever is bouncing around in that head of yours," you say gently, your voice softening as you reach out to touch his chin.
He instantly tries to pull his head back, his eyes darting to the side. "Nothing is in my head."
But you still maintain your grip on his chin, your fingers refusing to let him fully slip away from you. With a gentle but firm pressure, you guide his face back toward yours, compelling his elusive doe eyes to meet your gaze
"So why are you acting so off?"
When he doesn't answer, you let out a quiet sigh .You gently tilt his head to the side, exposing the ugly, bruised puncture mark on his neck where the guard had violently injected the stimulant. You open a small bottle of antiseptic fluid, pouring it onto a fresh piece of gauze.
"Kook, I know it's completely overwhelming. All of this. The fight, the escape, suddenly being trapped in a hospital... I know it's a lot to process. But you want to help Tae, don't you?"
" I do."
"Then what is it?" You persist, pressing the damp gauze against the puncture wound.
The moment the cool liquid hits the raw skin, a shiver ripples straight through Jungkook’s entire body.
"Nothing." He mutters with his head tilted to the side, his jaw clenched against the sting.
"It's clearly not nothing," you confront him, keeping your touch incredibly light and tender so he doesn't feel pushed into a corner. You dab at the bruise, looking closely at his profile in the pale moonlight. "You make me worried when you act like this. Faking your pain just to drag me away, when you said you were perfectly fine earlier. I only prioritized Tae first because he was literally bleeding out. You think I don't see what you're doing? Jealousy doesn't suit you."
You pause, waiting until he finally looks up. When his gaze meets yours, his expressive doe eyes are swimming with a raw, heavy mix of exhaustion and fierce possessiveness.
"But you are my human," he grumbles, sulking openly now as he shifts on the concrete windowsill. "You could have made Jimin treat him from the start. Why did you have to touch him so much?"
You snort, a quiet laugh escaping your chest. "Jimin? Kook, if I left Jimin alone with medical supplies other than a gauze, he'd probably end up accidentally hooking himself up to the IV instead. He has no idea what he's doing."
"So what," Jungkook fires back instantly, refusing to let go of his stubborn grudge. His hand leaves his knee, sliding down to rest heavily against your thigh, his fingers gripping your bare skin. "I don't want to share you."
A rush of affection warms your chest. Deciding to tease him a little to break through the thick wall of tension, you reach up and gently pinch his soft cheek. "Oh, really? My bunny wants me all to himself?"
Jungkook looks absolutely adorable with his cheek pinched, his facade instantly crumbling into something soft and helpless.
"Taehyung was getting all your attention," he murmurs quietly, voice loosing it's sharp edge. His eyes dropping to your lips before flicking back to your gaze.
"But Tae won't get this," you whisper softly.
You lower yourself slightly, leaning forward over the windowsill until your breath hitches against his. You press a soft, lingering peck right on the cheek where your fingers had just pinched him. Jungkook lets out a soft, breathy huff against your neck, his grip on your thigh tightening.
"And he won't get this," you move inward to plant a kiss right on the tip of his nose.
Then you shift, your lips ghost right over his, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, teasing the edge of his mouth. "And..."
You feel Jungkook completely hold his breath. His long black ears perk straight up in anticipation, his body freezing beneath your touch as you slowly close the remaining distance.
The kiss is incredibly soft at first; slow, tender, almost hesitant. A tiny breeze slips through the broken window, brushing gently across your cheeks and mingling with the warmth of his breath. It ruffles a few loose strands of your hair, making the quiet moment feel even more fragile, as though the world outside has faded away.
But the gentleness doesn't last long. The kiss quickly deepens into something fierce and desperate, sending a wild flock of butterflies crashing through your stomach. Jungkook tilts his chin up, his hand on your leg tightening as he pulls you closer, refusing to let the contact end. He leans back, his bare back pressing flat against the cold window glass, completely unbothered by the chill as long as he has you.
You find yourself standing completely trapped between his parted thighs, leaning your entire weight into his chest as the pale moonlight washes over you both.
The kiss tastes like everything he's been bottling up all night: How desperately he's missed you, how utterly terrified he is of losing you, and how deeply, helplessly he's falling. He has no idea where this dangerous, uncertain path will lead, but he knows one thing for certain: he's walking it with love.
When you gently part your lips to catch your breath, Jungkook lets out a low, pleading rumble, refusing to let you go. He presses closer, his grip on your thigh tightening as if he wants to pull you right into his skin. But as much as your heart screams to stay, reality forces its way back in. You reluctantly pull your head back a fraction of an inch.
"We have to go back," you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling slightly.
Jungkook lets out a soft, defeated huff, his forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. He stays there for a long moment.
As he rests against you, your eyes drift down his exposed shoulders. Your finger trace a series of faint, raised white lines cutting across his skin. You’ve seen these faded scars so many times before, but looking at them now, right after witnessing the horror of the arena, a sickening realization hits you. They look exactly like the fresh, angry lacerations currently bleeding across Tae's back.
"Jungkook... " Your breath catches, and your finger freeze right below his nape "Was tonight the first time fought in a ring?"
Jungkook’s body goes completely rigid under your touch. He slowly pulls his head back from your shoulder, biting the inside of his cheek so hard his jaw muscle leaps.
"No,"
You look at him, your heart aching with a sudden dread. "No?"
He stares down at his own hands, his knuckles still raw and split. "One of my old owners," he says, his voice dropping into a flat, numb register. "He made a lot of money off me. He made me attend the fights."
A profound silence fills the small supply room. You stand there, completely frozen between his thighs, staring at the broken boy in front of you. You already knew some scattered, painful details of his past, but you always find yourself wondering what else this poor bunny had to see and experience at such a young age.
This would always be your Roman Empire. The haunting, constant thought of his past, knowing you will probably never know his full story. There is just so much darkness he keeps entirely to himself, so many horrific memories locked away behind his stubborn, bratty walls. And as you look at the slight tremor in his hands, you realize that maybe it is better that way. Maybe knowing the full, unedited depth of what humans had done to him would completely break your heart beyond any repair.
You swallow down the lump in your throat, forcing a gentle smile onto your face as you gather the sterile gauze packets from the windowsill. "Let's get back to the others," you say softly, stepping back to give him room to hop down.
But before you can take a full step away, Jungkook’s hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist.
"Y/N?" he asks, his voice suddenly sounding incredibly small. He looks up at you through his messy dark bangs, his ears twitching back hesitantly.
You halt, turning back to him completely. "Yeah?"
He blinks, his grip on your wrist tightening just a fraction before his gaze drops awkwardly to the floor. "Nevermind."
"No, don't do that," you urge, stepping right back into the space between his knees and placing a hand over his. "Ask me."
Jungkook swallows hard. He looks up at you in the moonlight, his wide doe eyes shining with a raw, desperate question.
"Will you... will you still adopt me?"
You freeze. The question catches you completely off guard, and you don’t know why the answer suddenly feels so hard to pull from your throat.
You had been completely ready to sign the papers at the shelter today, desperate to save him and have him back in your arms. But standing here in the moonlight, looking at the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the concept of ownership hits you like a sickening wave. The thought of legally owning a living, breathing being–someone who feels so deeply, who possesses a soul so vibrant–feels so wrong. It twists painfully in your gut.
But you have to remind yourself that he isn't just a regular human, nor is he a pet. He is a hybrid. He is a beautiful, complex mix of fierce instinct and fragile devotion. A broken soul who has chosen to trust you completely, whose entire future depends on your protection.
You soften completely, the hesitation melting out of your chest. You wrap your fingers around his raw, trembling knuckles and squeeze his hand firmly.
"Of course I will," you whisper, your voice steady and fiercely certain.
"Really?" he asks, his voice barely audible. A sudden, brilliant spark of hope ignites in his wide doe eyes.
"Yes, really." You let out a tiny, breathless laugh, trying to break the heavy gravity of the moment. "You're stuck with me now, Kook."
The corners of his lips give a tiny twitch upward. It is the first real hint of a smile you've seen on him since the chaos began. The suffocating wall of jealousy and fear he had built up around himself finally crumbles, leaving him grounded, relaxed, and entirely yours.
"Come on," you urge gently. You tug on his hand, pulling him forward so he finally steps down from the wide concrete windowsill. "Let's go. We've kept Jimin and Tae waiting long enough."
You gather the medical supplies closely against your chest, the plastic packaging crinkling in the quiet space. Slipping out of the dark supply closet, you step back into the corridor. The return trip down the hallway passes without any danger. Reaching the Surgery Prep Room, you raise your knuckles and knock softly against the wood to signal it’s you.
You don't have to wait long. A distinct click echoes as the deadbolt is thrown back. The door swings open just a crack, and you are immediately met with Jimin’s face. His eyes dart past you to ensure the hall is empty, and he quickly gestures with his finger for you two to be quiet. You and Jungkook enter the room seamlessly, the door shutting behind you with a dull thud before Jimin throws the lock back into place.
Your eyes instantly travel to the gurney. Taehyung is lying still, the stiff hospital blanket pulled all the way up to his chin. His chest rises and falls in a slow pattern, his expression finally peaceful despite the ugly, dark bruising stretching across his temple.
Jimin lets out a quiet breath, leaning his back against the door. "He completely knocked out," he whispers, nodding toward the bed. "About two minutes after you guys left. The exhaustion just dragged him under."
"That's good," you murmur, setting the pile of supplies down on the stainless steel counter next to the IV pole. "He needs the sleep."
"Did you actually find what we needed, or did you just go on a romantic stroll through the hospital wing?" he teases in a low whisper, though his eyes are wide with curiosity.
You shoot him a glare and hold up the packages. "Sterile gauze, medical tape, and extra antiseptic. We’re fully stocked."
"Nice," Jimin says, a genuine sigh of relief escaping him. "Nurse Park approves."
But before you can even open the first box of gauze to check on Jungkook's arm, a loud phone ring cuts through the room.
"Shit, shit, shit—" Jimin Hisses, scrambling frantically. He digs his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and finally yanks his phone out. The screen illuminates his face in a harsh, bright blue light. He stares at the caller ID. "Fuck, it's Marcus."
He slides his thumb across the screen and presses the phone tightly to his ear. "Marcus? Hey. Yeah, man, I'm still at the hospital. What's up?" Jimin pauses, listening to the voice crackling on the other end of the line. As the seconds tick by, the casual demeanor fades from Jimin's face, replaced by a weird, strained expression. His eyes slowly lock onto you, tracking the ruined, glittering silver dress you’re wearing.
"Yeah... yeah, I know where she lives," Jimin says slowly, his voice tight as he keeps his gaze fixed entirely on your face. He nods along to whatever Marcus is saying, his brow furrowing deeper. "Mhm. Yeah, I'll let her know the second I see her or get a hold of her. Safe night."
Jimin clicks the phone off and lowers his hand, the screen fading to black.
"What?" you ask, your voice a frantic whisper as you take a step toward him.
"He said some woman just came and dropped off your bag."
"My bag?"
A cold dread pools in your stomach as the reality of his words sinks in. Your bag. Your phone is in that bag. Your ID is in that bag. But most importantly, your entire life is currently sitting in that bag—specifically, the payment card loaded with Hoseok's money that he had handed you to buy Jungkook’s freedom. You need to get it back. You need to check if that money is still safe, because if it's gone, you have absolutely no way out
Another A/N: Sup guys. I just wanted to say that I do not know a damn thing about any of the hospital stuff like doing IVs or whatever, so I had to rely on Google. Please do not use anything in this chapter as a medical guide. ( Personally, I can't even glue a bandage on my pinky toe properly)
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It's a destructive cycle you and Jungkook know all too well. Your love has always been toxic: an endless, exhausting cycle of pushing each other away just to pull each other back in, desperately holding onto a history too heavy to carry but too precious to let go of.
You've promised yourself, over and over again, that the next goodbye would be the last.
Until he shows up at your door, asking you to let him in just one more time.
And you do. ───────────────────────────────── ─────────────────────────────────
|| A/N: Welcome! This story was heavily inspired by the song "Cross My Heart." (BY ARTEMAS) i've had it on loop the entire time i was writing, and somehow it turned into this... anyways, hope you enjoy ♡ O S
word count: 4.5k N H
my masterlist E O
perm tag list T
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There is a specific kind of quiet that only exists after midnight, and it isn't peaceful. It’s deafening. A silence that makes your ears ring as they strain in the dark, desperately trying to catch onto the smallest sound, anything to prove you aren't the last person left alive.
You hate nights like this.
You hate them with a bitter, bone-deep exhaustion that leaves your throat dry and your eyes burning.
It’s one of those nights where the world is dead asleep, but you are suspended in a frustrating, empty limbo. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing them pressed together so hard they ache, desperately hoping that if you just hold still enough, sleep will finally drag you under.
But it never does.
You toss to your left, but the pillow is immediately too warm. You toss to your right, but the sheets feel tangled and restrictive. You count sheep. You try to focus on your breathing. But your mind is too active, too loud. It keeps spinning, replaying things you want to forget, while the heavy silence of the apartment only amplifies the noise inside your head.
The brain is a cruel machine when it’s deprived of sleep, and tonight, it is determined to feed you a steady loop of the ghosts you’ve spent weeks trying to bury. Every memory, every harsh word, every lingering look you tried to forget comes back to crowd the bed. Specifically, him.
The phantom weight of Jungkook’s hand on your waist. The echo of his laugh when things were actually good, before the rot set in. The memories of your hands tangled in his dark hair, and the much fresher, sharper memory of the last time you screamed at each other until your throats were raw.
You had told him to leave.
You had watched him walk down the hallway, shoulders slumped, and you had locked the door, promising yourself that you were done. No more. The cycle had to stop before there was nothing left of both of you.
But the universe doesn’t care about your promises.
The clock on your nightstand flickers to 2:14 AM. The white LED numbers glow in the dark, a silent testament to your failure to rest.
You stare at the display, tracking the slow, agonizing change of each minute as if watching the time slide by could somehow force your brain to shut down. 2:15. 2:16. But before the numbers can shift again, the silence of the apartment is suddenly broken.
A series of uneven knocks thuds against your front door.
You instantly freeze, holding your breath so hard your chest aches. The sound is familiar—too familiar. You know the pattern. It’s a sloppy, heavy sequence of knocks that you’ve heard a hundred times before.
It’s the sound of someone who can barely stand, someone who has run out of places to go, someone who knows exactly which door will still open for him, no matter how late it gets.
You lie completely still in the dark, your heart hammering against your ribs, hoping that if you don't move, if you don't breathe, the person on the other side will think you aren't home and just go away.
But the knocking comes again, and again, and again.
With a defeated sight, you shift. You slide from the bed, the cold air hitting your bare skin, and grab a silk robe from the chair, draping it loosely over your shoulders. You pad barefoot across the cold floor, each step a freezing shock that should be waking your common sense up, but doesn't.
You tell yourself you've got this. You are going to walk to that door, look through the peephole, tell him to leave, and go right back to bed. You are going to be strong this time.
But you are a weak, pathetic thing when it comes to him.
Even before you reach the lock, your intentions are already a complete failure. The gravity of him is already pulling you in, warping your resolve before you've even seen his face.
As you step into the hallway and flick on the dim LEDs, the golden light casts long, distorted shadows on the walls. You stop right in front the door. You don't open it. Instead, you lean your forehead against the cool surface, closing your eyes
"Go home, Jungkook,"
There is a brief pause on the other side. Then, you hear the rustling sound of his jacket sliding against the outside of the door, followed by a dull, soft thud. He has leaned his forehead against the other side, right where yours is resting, separated only by a few inches of wood.
"I don't want to go home," he mutters. His voice is slurred, and terribly rough around the edges. "Open the door, please. "
"I can't," you say, pressing your forehead even harder against the door, feeling the coldness of the surface seep into your skin. "We've talked about this."
"Y/N..."
"No. We literally agreed. No more of this. No more late-night calls, no more showing up here when you're wasted. We said it was over."
" I know."
"Then why are you here?"
"Cause I don't care," he mutters, his voice cracking, aggressive but pathetic all at once. He bangs his fist lightly against the wood, a stubborn, demanding beat right next to your head. "Baby, I don't care what we said. I’m drunk, and I’m right here. His voice catches."Shit, I tried not to come. I really fucking tried."
"You can't just ignore what we agreed on whenever you feel like it," you breathe against the wood, your hand trembling as you rest it near the deadbolt. "You're being selfish."
"So let me be selfish," he shoots back, his tone turning sharper, pushing past his own sadness into something more demanding. "I'm not asking for much, Y/N. You're going to leave me out here in the hall? Really? After everything we had? You're going to act like you're too good to let me in?"
And there it is. The hook. The subtle, toxic twist of the knife that he knows exactly how to use. He doesn't even realize he's doing it—or maybe he does, and he's just too desperate to care. He is pulling at the threads of your sympathy, making his pain your responsibility, using your shared history as a weapon to force your hand.
The tragedy of it is that you both love each other. You really, truly believe that. It’s not a lie, and it’s not just physical. The love is there. It's deep, agonizing, and real. But it is a sick love. It’s a toxic, suffocating disease of a relationship because you do not work together. You never have, and you never will.
You want a quiet, consistent life with a partner who shows up on a Tuesday afternoon; he wants the thrill of the chase, his exploding career, the loud, chaotic nights, and the freedom to only love you when he has the time for it. You are moving in completely opposite directions, yet neither of you can bear the thought of letting go. So instead, you keep dragging each other back into the dirt.
"Stop it. You always do this" you whisper, the exhaustion finally pulling at your throat, making it ache. "You show up, you break my rules, and mess everything up. Just like you did last time."
"I know I fucked up," he grovels, his palms sliding down the door with a desperate, scraping sound. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll do better. I'll change, baby, I swear. Just let me in so can fix it.""
"Fix what, Jungkook?"
A pause.
"Fix us."
"There is no us anymore."
"Don't say that." His response is immediate. Too immediate. Like the thought alone is something he physically can't handle. "Don't fucking say that, Y/N."
"Why?" Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "Because it's true?"
"No."
"You promise me everytime. Every single time, you stand there and tell me you're going to change. That this time will be different. That you'll choose me. Do you know how exhausting it is waiting for someone who keeps making you feel like you're optional?"
"Babe—"
"No, let me finish." Your voice shakes now, but you don't stop.
"You feed me all this bullshit, making me believe you're finally ready to stay, that we can actually manage this. And I believe you. I really do. But then you disappear again... You get caught up in your life, your work, your parties, whatever the hell else is more important in that moment, and then suddenly days go by. Sometimes weeks."
You close your eyes in bitter frustration, desperately trying to find the words that will finally get through his alcohol-fogged skull, to make him realize the damage he leaves in his wake.
"And just when I finally start to think it's over, just when I think I might actually survive you–you're at it again," you breathe, the hopelessness of the cycle washing over you. "You show up here drunk, expecting me to just wipe the slate clean."
"I don't expect you to just forget it," he mutters, the irritation flaring in his tone again, "But Jesus, Yn... So what if I had a few drinks and lost track of time? Big fucking deal. It’s not like I murdered someone."
"That's not the point."
"I know what the point is." His voice rises, defensive. "I know I messed up. I know you're mad. But I'm standing here, aren't I? I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got."
He trails off, a heavy, frustrated sigh escaping him as his knuckles thump once more against the solid wood. You hear him turn slightly, his back scraping against the door with a dull friction, his head dropping back against the panel with a soft thud.
"Fuck's sake..." he mumbles to himself, his voice dropping to a slurred whisper. "Why does it always have to be a battlefield with us? I just... I just wanted to see you."
You shift your head too, sliding your forehead along the wood until your temple is pressed against the cold door. Leaning tiredly, you look down at your bare feet.
Your thoughts blur together; You remember every promise, every apology, every time you've ended up right here again.
A quiet sigh escapes you.
"What am I supposed to do with you, Kook?"
"Let me in," he pleads, his voice dropping to that soft, desperate register that always manages to strip away your defenses. "I'll make more time for you. I swear to God I will. I’ll make them reschedule the promotions, I’ll clear my weekends. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just give me one last chance. "
He says it with so much conviction, but you know it's a lie. He knows it, too. He will sober up, the sun will rise, his phone will start ringing, and he will slip right back into the fast lane, leaving you in the dust again. He is offering you a counterfeit promise just to get past the lock, and you are starving enough to almost take it.
But God, you want to dream. Just for tonight, you want to pretend that this is real, that his words aren't just empty air, and that he might actually stay this time. You want to believe in the fantasy he is spinning, even if it burns you tomorrow.
"Whatever it takes?" you ask quietly, your voice barely louder than a breath.
"Anything," he says instantly, voice urgent. "Name it, Y/N. Anything."
"Why?" you ask. A small part of you already knows the answer, but you need to hear him say it. "Why would you do all of that?"
"Because I love you."
"Do you?"
There is a sudden, sharp intake of breath on the other side, and then the weight of his head disappears from the wood. You hear him step back, his boots scuffing the floor as irritation flares through his drunken haze.
Jungkook instantly recognizes your tone; that quiet, challenging tilt to your voice, the familiar trap you always set when you want to pull his insecurities to the surface. He can hear the calculated doubt in your question, the way you are intentionally pushing him to the edge just to watch him struggle for your validation.
"Are you really fucking doing this again, Y/N?" he snaps, his voice rising. "Are we seriously doing this right now? Every single time I try to get close, you find a way to question how I feel. You twist it around, you make me stand out here like a dog, and then you act like I don’t care about you just so you can feel like the victim."
"I'm not acting, Jungkook. You made me the victim the moment you decided I was only worth your time when you had nothing better to do."
"That's bullshit!" he barks. "I just told you I love you. I just told you I'd change. What the fuck else you want me to do?"
"I wanted you to mean it before you were standing outside my door scared of losing me."
"You think I don't mean it?"
"I think you mean it right now."
His breath catches. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that right now, you're afraid. You're drunk. You're desperate. You want me to open this door because you can't stand the idea of me actually letting you go."
"So what? That makes it fake?
"No. It makes it temporary."
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
You hear a quiet click from the other side of the door. The light in the stairwell flickers off, leaving Jungkook standing in the darkness outside your apartment.
"So?" he says after a moment, his voice sharp, frustration creeping back in. "That's it? You're just going to stand there and punish me for every mistake I've ever made?"
"I'm not punishing you."
"Oh, Really?" His laugh is bitter. "Because it feels like you need me to suffer. Like you need me standing out here begging until you finally believe I care."
He is not entirely wrong. But can he really blame you?
The truth is—You need this. You need to push him to the absolute edge, to make him beg, to hear him desperately lay his love until his voice is raw, deliberately holding the door closed to keep him suspended on the precipice of losing you. It is a broken coping pattern; after all the countless nights he neglected you, leaving you to choke on your own loneliness while he chased his loud, chaotic life, you want him to feel exactly how you felt. You want him stripped of his pride, proving his devotion just so you can feel a twisted sense of control. You want him to bleed for you the way you bled for him.
But Jungkook’s patience is a thin, frayed wire, and your stubbornness is finally cutting right through it.
The quiet of the hallway splinters as he slaps a heavy hand flat against the wood. The sudden, sharp crack of palm meeting door echoes loudly down the corridor. "Just open the fucking door, Y/N!"
You instinctively step back, a cold spike of panic hitting your chest, terrified the sudden noise will wake the neighbors.
"Look, I know I don't deserve you," he continues, his voice dropping slightly but vibrating with a resentful energy. "I know I’m a mess and I’m difficult, but that's just who the fuck I am. I’m built for the noise, and you knew that when you took me in. But don't act like you're completely innocent here, standing there judging me when you're the one holding all the power."
He lets out a ragged breath, his forehead thudding back against the panel.
"What do you want, huh? You want me to kneel for you? You want me on my knees in this hallway? Fucking fine, I'll do it. Just open the door."
The raw desperation in his voice cracks something inside you. Slowly, with trembling fingers, you reach out and unlock the deadbolt. The click of the metal feels monumental in the quiet apartment. You pull the door open, but only a fraction, leaving a slight gap between you.
The amber light from your entryway spills across him, casting him in a warm, low glow against the dim hallway. He looks utterly wrecked. His dark hair is a messy halo sticking up in every direction, and his eyes are blown, glassy with the weight of whatever he’s been drinking. His beige jacket hangs rumpled and half-buttoned over a dark shirt, slipping slightly off one shoulder. The moment his gaze lands on you, his jaw tightens. He bites down on his lower lip, trapping the metal of his lip ring between his teeth as if trying to hold back a wave of pure frustration and hunger.
For a second, he just stands there, tilting his head slightly as his eyes search yours with a raw, undeniable longing that makes your chest ache.
"Can I come in?" he mumbles finally.
You let out a soft, breathy snort at the sudden, ridiculous politeness of it. After all the bitter accusations, he’s standing on your threshold asking for permission like a reprimanded child.
But you don't say a word. You simply take a slow step backward into the shadows of your apartment, leaving the path clear.
Jungkook doesn't hesitate. He takes the silent invitation, stepping over the threshold and pushing the door shut behind him. The heavy click of the latch echoing in the room feels incredibly final. You stand in absolute silence, watching him reach back to turn the deadbolt, locking both of you inside.
When he turns back to face you, the air starts to feel suffocating. His heavy gaze drops from your eyes, trailing slowly down the length of your body, lingering on the soft, loose fabric of your robe before dragging itself back up to your face.
"You make me insane," he mutters, the words laced with an exhausted frustration.
Before you can even draw a breath, he steps deep into your space. One heavy hand lands on your shoulder, forcing you backward until your spine bumps against the wall-mounted coat rack. A row of hanging jackets cushions the impact, swallowing the force beneath layers of fabric as they sway around you.
Your eyes never leave his, refusing to look away even as he crowds you against the wall. He presses his body flush against yours, stealing every inch of space between you. Then dips his head until his forehead rests against yours. There is nothing separating them anymore.
"I do?" you whisper, your breath fanning across his lips.
He lets out a low, frustrated sound. "You know you fucking do,"
He hovers there, his lips so agonizingly close to yours that you can taste the faint burn of alcohol on his breath. The tension between you is thick, almost violent. The dizzying desire to finally feel his mouth on yours makes your head spin, sending a desperate, familiar ache singing right beneath your skin. It happens every single time—this humiliating rush of heat that instantly washes away all the carefully built-up resentment, leaving you completely exposed.
It’s a sick, repetitive game, but the truth is, you could push him away all you want, you could scream and lock him out, but the moment he is back in your space, a miserable, pathetic part of you is just happy he returned.
You are ready to give in the very moment his lips touch yours.
But Jungkook isn't going to make this easy. He is testing you. He keeps his lips just millimeters from yours, refusing to close the final gap himself. He’s waiting, daring you to be the one to break first, to be the one to weaken and show your hand. It’s cruel. It's incredibly, agonizingly cruel.
But tonight, you don't care. You have nothing left to lose except him, and the emptiness of the apartment is a far worse enemy than his arrogance.
So, you yield.
You tilt your chin up, bridging the gap, and press your lips to his.
The moment your mouths touch, the restraint snaps. Jungkook groans into the kiss, leaning into you with a force that arches your back against the wall. His arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, while your hands instinctively find the collar of his half-buttoned jacket, clutching the heavy fabric to keep your footing.
He breathes into you, his mouth hungry and relentless, your lips fitting together with terrifying perfection. The cool metal of his lip ring catches against your bottom lip, familiar enough that you already know it'll leave behind another faint imprint by morning.
Jungkook knows exactly how to appease your anger, and you know exactly how to draw the human out of his shell. You both know each other too well; Every trigger, every soft spot, every broken piece.
Watching from the outside, someone might actually think the two of you were perfect for each other. They would see the seamless way your bodies align, the effortless gravity that pulls you back into his orbit no matter how far he drifts.
But the truth is far uglier. You aren't perfect for each other. You are a slow-burning disaster. Yet, somehow, no matter how toxic you two are together, you are infinitely worse apart. Separation is a hollow, torturous withdrawal that neither of us has the strength to survive.
The kiss deepens, turning fierce and bruising. Jungkook’s tongue slides past your lips, claiming your mouth with a dizzying heat that makes your knees buckle. His fingers dig into the soft silk of your robe, pulling you so close that you can feel the erratic thud of his heartbeat directly against yours. The scent of dark liquor and despair pours off him, filling your senses until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember why you wanted him gone in the first place.
Slowly, agonizingly, he pulls back just a fraction. His lips brush against yours as he pants. A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his hazy, bedroom eyes dripping with smug satisfaction.
"See?" he rasps, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver straight down your spine. "All that big talk behind the door... and you still let me in."
You swallow hard, as you try to claw back even a shred of your dignity. "I can still throw you out." you mutter, though the threat has no teeth, especially not when your fingers are still tightly tangled in his collar. "The door isn't far."
He lets out a low, amused hum, completely unbothered. Instead of answering, he lets his head drop, his breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck. He presses a slow kiss right below your jawline, the cool metal of his lip ring scraping deliciously against your warm skin, as he drags his lips down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
"Pretty little liar," he murmurs against your pulse point. "You’re not throwing me anywhere."
Your legs go weak under the the searing heat of his lips, your knees practically collapsing. To keep from sliding down the wall, you let your hands slip from his jacket, burying your fingers deep into his soft, messy dark hair to hold him close.
"You are insufferable," you gasp out, tilting your head back to give him better access, even as you curse yourself for doing it.
"Yeah," His grip on your waist tightening, pulling you so close that there is no air left between your bodies. "But I'm yours."
Im yours Im yours Im yours
The words are a vow, a beautiful, echoing illusion. Before you can protest, he nips at the sensitive sweet spot where your neck meets your shoulder. He sucks softly, marking it, claiming you as if he has every right to do so, as if he isn't going to disappear the moment morning light spills across the floorboards.
A sharp, electric shiver cascades down your spine, your body betraying you completely as you arch into his touch. You push your head up, trying to breathe, trying to grasp onto some semblance of reality as his mouth slide over your skin again, sending a violent rush of goosebumps across your arms.
But in your dazed, frantic movement, your shoulder jolts against the coat rack mounted on the wall just above you. With a soft rustle, one of your heavy winter coats slips from its hook, draping right over your head and shoulders.
Through the darkness, you hear Jungkook let out a breathless chuckle, the vibration settling warmly against your skin. He straightens up, his hands slipping from your waist to trail slowly up your arms. His fingers catch the hem of the coat, pulling it off your head in one slow motion before letting it pool onto the floor.
"There you are," he murmurs, his lips twitching with amusement as he looks down at your flushed face.
But the teasing warmth in his expression quickly fades, replaced by something more serious. His dark, hazy eyes lock onto yours, burning with a sudden intensity.
"Your turn," he whispers.
Your breath catches in your throat. "For what?"
"Tell me you're mine."
You freeze. A heavy pause hangs in the air. Your eyes shake as you look up into his, searching the depths of his gaze.
It is torturous. He has your heart in a vice, and you suffer for it every single day. Bleeding out in the quiet of this apartment while he runs wild in the light. But despite the anger, despite the loneliness, the truth is written in your bones. You belong to him. In moments like this, when he has stripped away all his defenses and laid his desperation bare, he has every single piece of you.
"All yours," you breathe.
The words have barely left your mouth when the atmosphere shifts. Jungkook's gaze darkens, his eyes dropping to your lips before slowly tracing the column of your throat, only to find yours again. His expression is intensely focused, heavy with a silent, simmering hunger.
Slowly, without ever breaking eye contact, he lowers himself. His hands slide down your hips, then your thighs, his touch burning through the thin silk of your robe until he is kneeling in front of you, his knees pressed against the cold hardwood floor.
He looks up at you from below, his messy hair falling over his forehead, his jaw tense as he clutches the hem of your silk robe. It is exactly what he threatened to do—what you secretly, obsessively craved. He is kneeling to beg for your forgiveness, greedy for your love, desperate to consume whatever crumbs of you he can get. Even if this twisted love destroys you both by morning.
